Witch Maiden II: Journey to Hell
by machievelli
Summary: With barely time to grieve, the ship and her crew is thrust back into the furnace on the forefront of the new war
1. Chapter 1

Witch Maiden II:

Journey to Hell

Homecoming

With a flare of light and energy HMS Witch Maiden came through the Junction almost exactly ten months after she had departed. She floated there like a rabbit conjured from a magician's hat for several seconds until the flare of energy finally died. Her sails configured into her impeller bands, and she made her way out of the path of any traffic following at her best speed, a paltry 208G.

Rebecca Duvalier, Baroness Duvalier leaned back in her chair as her crew went through their own duties. It was good to be home, though for most of her crew, this would be somber. The Yawata Strike had slaughtered a large portion of the navy in one hellish afternoon, and there were those aboard who had lost their families or good friends, as she had. She looked across at Gaelin Watson, her exec. He'd lost his entire extended family in that strike.

"FTL signal with our number, captain." Lieutenant Heinreid reported. "We've been given a docking orbit 200,000 kilometers from Manticore. BuPers wants our crew listing so they can reassign some of them."

"Any idea how many, this time, Millie?"

The woman shook her head. Rebecca sighed in disgruntlement. She had expected and even anticipated that this would happen. When a warship no matter what class returned home, Bupers grabbed who they could to transfer them to other ships in need of blooded personnel. It also meant that whoever took command after her would have to deal with training up their replacements. She wondered what her next command would be. A heavy cruiser or maybe even a battlecruiser? That was worth looking forward to.

In all of her time in the service, she had never seen so many ships using active sensors at the same time. There were four hundred super dreadnoughts, almost a eight hundred battlecruisers, almost two thousand heavy and light cruisers, almost three thousand destroyers, and tens of thousands of LACs filling space with radar energy. In fact if the energy had been solid matter, she could have walked from the Junction to Manticore. Nothing could move out there without being spotted, at least, that was what everyone hoped. Before word that the war had ended was sent, show would have been worried; over half were Republican ships

She was reminded of the old saw about locking barn doors. Her ship picked it's way through the throng, moving ever inward. Finally she reached her parking orbit, and her wedge came down. Her small craft loaded and launched toward the planet. Some going down for some R&R, others leaving the ship forever. Rebecca was buried in paperwork as were all of her department heads. All that is, but Gaelin. She had seen him and Holmes off almost the instant the ship achieved orbit.

She had joked with each of her juniors, from when she was a department head on the old Enchantress on through her now three hyper capable commands that she refused to do paperwork unless they began using paper again. Now she not only had to do her own paperwork, but check on all of her juniors. Most of course only needed a quick check to assure they were done before sending them on.

Until the Admiralty sent aboard someone to replace her, it was her ship, and she acted as her master before god. Her ship would need resupply; they had shot off almost all of her allotment of pods plus a lot of the ones they had picked up, or had carried to deploy. Revictualling for the new crew, and some replacement for hydroponics. She nodded as Os delivered some nibbling food as she worked on. Irene Adler, the cat who had become her companion slid up onto the desk, stalking toward the plate. She caught a chunk of sausage, flipping it into the air for the cat to chase down. At the moment, only about ten percent of the crew was still aboard; she had taken the first day's watch mainly to allow the others a chance to relax.

The annunciator sounded, and she tapped it. "Yes, Private?"

"Commander Kiel to see you, Captain."

"Send her in."She stood as the Andermani officer came in. The Oriental woman saluted, and Rebecca made a motion like a salute at her forehead, before waving it off. "Damn it, Jinua, we have shared too much for this crap."

"Fine liquor, commiseration, and a bed if I am not mistaken." Jinhua agreed with a smile.

"So your arrangements to go back to the Empire are done?"

"They are unnecessary." Jinhua husked. "Sun Chi died less than a week after the message was sent."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"As much as I am. Since there is no reason for me to go home, I have been assigned to the Observers who will report on your actions from this point on."

"So you were right, the Empire is bowing out."

"As an active belligerent yes. But that was at the request of your Admiralty." She cocked her head. "With us sitting out, you have a source for more missiles. Our lines have geared up to produce the Mk23s and Apollos, with more than enough production capability to supply some of your needs. You research and development and Weapons Design Bureau has been split; half were sent to the Republic's 'Bolthole'. The rest to New Potsdam. The Solarians in the words of one of our admirals, have taken a bite out of the bear." At Rebecca's confused look, Jinhua smiled. "An old proverb among us. If you take a bite out of the bear, expect to have to eat all of him, or pay the price."

She snapped to attention. "By your leave, Captain?"

"Granted." They shook hands.

She sipped her tea, closing out the document. The intercom rang and she tapped the button. "Captain."

"Ensign Xaviar here, Captain. Admiralty house sent a signal. Admiral Cortez wants to see you tomorrow morning at 1100."

"Thank you ensign." She shut it off. Xaviar, he was third shift communications. Why was he doing a double... She looked at the chrono. Two AM. She'd been at it for almost fourteen hours. She shut down her computer, and trudged into her stateroom. She neatly set down her uniform, stripping down to her underwear, and climbed into bed. There was a thump, and Irene leaped onto the bed. She padded up Rebecca's body, then burrowed under the covers to curl up against her side. She rolled, her arms pulling the cat to her bosom, and drifted off.

Surprise

Manticore had missed being hit badly by debris thanks to Mount Royal Palace's defenses. She watched Jason Bay slide below her cutter as they dropped to the main Naval landing field. Minutes later she reported to Admiralty House, and was directed to Admiral Cortez of Bupers.

He stood when she came in, shaking her hand as he directed her to the conversation pit in his office. "You've barely gotten home, captain, and I apologize for the hurry, but you are to redeploy in less than a month."

She cocked her head. "So I am staying in Witch Maiden?"

He nodded. "It wasn't what we had planned originally. When you left on your last deployment, you were supposed to be coming back to a Battlecruiser. Unfortunately, Odysseus was destroyed in the Yawata Strike."

Her heart leaped. She'd been getting an Agamemnon! Then she realized what he had said. Her new ship had been in the slip almost a year from completion when the Yawata strike had occurred. She would never even see that ship.

"Unfortunately, we do have something that needs to be done that can't wait. We have placed Witch Maiden at the top of all of our lists for personnel and supply. Almost half of your original crew have already been reassigned, or will be in the next few days, but the last of those replacing them will be aboard long before you sail.

"I know it is not what you had hoped for, please take it as a given that it is not what we expected for you either."

With so many ships that had been building destroyed, and those who would have manned them slaughtered, she did understand. The desperate attempts to fill too many holes in their roster was stretching Personnel more than anyone else. From what she had heard and seen Sir Lucien had been doing minor miracles every day since the Battle of Manticore, and major ones since the Yawata Strike.

"Yes, sir, I do understand."

"Good. Then I will let you get back to work."

"And you keep trying to make bricks without straw."

He grinned at her, standing. "Good hunting."

"Thank you." She shook his hand, and marched out. It was only as her cutter rocketed into space before she allowed her own hurt to show. Command of a battlecruiser was every Manticoran Captain's dream. Until the war had begun it had been the epitome of trust. That her Majesty and the navy thought you were good enough to be handed such a plum. She had been among that number, albeit briefly. Well there would be another soon enough.

The cutter dropped into the cargo bay and she disembarked. There were people there waiting for her. Ominously, there was also a small mountain of luggage with them.

Commander Collins, her chief engineer stood alongside Surgeon Lieutenant Jeffries, Lieutenant Heinreid her communications officer, and her purser, Lieutenant Danials. "So you're leaving us?" She asked.

"Yes ma'am. We've got expedited orders with two week leave enroute for any memorial services we felt we needed to attend."Collins waved with a hurt look. "They didn't even send us separate orders. Just 'all of you, off the boat'."

She shook her head, smiling sadly. "I know what you mean. Instead of a 'we have a new battlecruiser for you' I got a meeting where they tell me the old Witch still has me as skipper." She looked at all of those faces. "It was an honor to serve with you all. Godspeed, and good hunting." She shook hands with them one by one as they also wished her the same. Already the ship felt empty.

As the next days passed, it felt more than empty. Over two thirds of her senior ratings had been reassigned, along with over half of the junior officers. Every one of them had come by to say goodbye, and she had wished them well as they departed her deck for the last time.

With the last of her paperwork done, she considered who to give command so she could go to Gryphon. There were so many things she had to do at Oak Glen. She checked the duty roster. Lieutenant Zachary was still listed as her A-Tac. She tapped the bridge annunciator.

"Zachary."

"Lieutenant, I have business in Gryphon for the next two days. Think you can handle her for that long?"

"Of course, Captain."

"Then she's all yours. But remember, you break her, you buy her."

"I shudder to think of it, captain."

She broke the connection with a grin. Oselli came out, with a cup of tea, and she nodded to him gratefully. "We need to pick up a cat carrier."

"Cat carrier?"

"Come on, Os, the regs allow Treecats, but not felis domesticus. She'll have lots of other cats to be around down at Aunt Grace's Cat House." Rebecca knew the old woman was probably in the afterlife tittering like a school girl. A mansion donated to her furry minions and the estate named the Cat House just to shock the more conservative people of her home world.

"Yes, ma'am." She was sure he'd come up with a reason why she should stay aboard. But maybe she had blindsided him.

There was a hyper shuttle running eight times daily from the Manticore A component to the B component. Rebecca caught the next one and was home three hours later. The old house felt so empty. Tommy and father gone. She walked through the building, almost expecting one of them to come from a door ahead. Wesley the major domo had let her in, then left her alone. He always knew what to do.

She went into the office. The Baron's office... now hers. She walked over, and her hand rested gently on the back of the chair. She stood there for a long moment in silence. "Oh, Father." She whispered.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't. She pulled out the drawer. Mister Matthew had delivered the papers, and she pulled them out. Sitting across the desk from her proper place, she accepted the Barony. More paperwork, this time real crisp vellum and blue-back folders. Her fingers cramped, but she continued to work. Irene meowed plaintively, and she remembered she'd forgotten to let the cat out. She opened the carrier, and Irene leaped into her lap. Rebecca stopped, leaning back. The cat oozed upward, licking it her wet cheek before rubbing against it.

Rebecca clutched the furry monster to her, and cried. It had to end, and it did. Finally she was cried out. Irene had spent all of that time stroking her face with her cheeks, purring. She sighed, wiping her face. Then she licked the cat's nose. Irene licked her nose, eyes closed in bliss.

"Let's see about some dinner for you." Rebecca stood, walking around the desk to touch the intercom. Wesley was there with a tray. She honestly thought Os might have taken lessons from the man.

"A proper tea, madam." He set the tray down, and set a plate of cucumber sandwiches and scones down. He also set a saucer of cream down. Irene leaped over to the desk, and began lapping it up.

"You are spoiling us both, Wesley."

"Your father always accused me of that, madam. But spoiling implies something unearned. We serve out of respect."

"My father deserved that respect, Wesley. Even Tommy did."

"Implying you do not, madam." Wesley replied. "We have heard of what you did in Copperplate. That was not the act of someone worthless. You lived up to your grandfather's memory." He motioned toward the battlecruiser model near the wall. HMS Belligerent, the last command of her grandfather before his death on her last cruise fifty years before.

Her father had never commanded a ship, but he had made a name for himself for almost 60 years in the JAG office going from trial council to Judge Advocate General.

She'd never live up to that. Not if she lived to be a hundred.

"Madam, I know what you're thinking. In fact when your father passed the bar he was positive he would never make his mark either. But he succeeded, as you have and will. Don't expect to be perfect in one leap." He leaned forward, stroking Irene. "She looks like Hannibal, your father's cat."

"Father had a cat?" She asked. "After all the grief he gave aunt Grace?"

Wesley sighed. "He died before you were born. Hannibal was his good luck charm. He was taken along on every case you father handled, whether he was prosecuting or defending, for his first ten years in the JAG office. But when Hannibal died, your father didn't want another cat. He didn't want to feel that he had replaced his best friend in the world." He picked up the empty tray. "I will leave you to it, madam."

Rebecca looked at the door for a long moment. Irene leaped into her lap, curling up to sleep.

"Welcome back, Captain." The ensign in the hold greeted her. She nodded, walking on to the lift. At the quarters deck she walked into her cabin, setting down the carrier.

"Welcome back, Captain." Os stepped from the pantry with a cup of tea. "Ma'am."

"Not a word, Os." She told him firmly, opening the carrier. Irene ran out of it, leaped onto the desk, and curled up.


	2. Old Crew, New Crew

Old crew, New crew

The next week was packed. Gaelin was officially relieved as her executive officer. He would go on to the Crusher, but there was no word of who her new Number One would be. Lieutenant Zachary was assigned as her new tactical officer, with no word as to what would happen with Lieutenant Hughes. Abigail had returned to Saganami Island for her next assignment, leaving medical communications and engineering as gaping holes in her table of organization. Crewmen poured aboard. Her new Bosun Master Chief Cyntia Sharpe came aboard, and began molding the crew. That left Lieutenants O'Malley and Huggins as still in her establishment.

But she was perturbed by other replacements. The purser's replacement was a humorless man named Damian Cathcart, a fellow Gryphon Highlander he was a member of the Third Reformation Anabaptist church, which had taken the more negative aspects of the pre Diaspora Baptist church to heart. A firm teetotaler, and someone who really didn't understand why anyone would wish to do more than read the bible and do their duty.

That grated with her own Second Reformation Catholic faith, Not a major problem, but then again, it could cause undue friction later. The annunciator sounded, and she pushed the stud. "The Master at Arms to see you, captain."

Another rock in the river of her command. Her old Master at Arms had been reassigned to the SuperDreadnought HMS Intrepid. Her replacement, Senior Chief Justin Christian did not live up to that name in attitude. To those who don't serve aboard ship, the title meant little. The best non-military description of his duties was as the deputy sheriff of the local police department. Some were harsh, some lax, and the problem was you didn't know what they were like until it was too late. MA Shawna Stapleton whom he had replaced was what Rebecca considered a perfect Master at Arms; she cut slack when the person deserved it, but verified that it was necessary before bringing the hammer down.

On the other hand Christian's last assignment had been to Chelmsford Military Prison located on Thorson Manticore A III's moon, where he had been the number three enlisted man in rank. In his thirty-five year career this would be only his fourth shipboard assignment; he had done his last fifteen years assigned to that prison.

"Send him in." She leaned back in her chair as the man stalked in. Stalked was the only way to describe his way of walking, you thought of a predator moving confidently toward it's prey. He was a large stocky man, his red hair in a buzz cut. His eyes were set back in his head, and Rebecca was reminded of the trophy head of a prize Gryphon Hedge boar her father had once hunted.

Christian snapped to attention. "Ma'am, I am currently investigating a person of interest aboard ship for bootlegging, profiteering, and misappropriation of stores. I already have proof of complicity of several officers and senior ratings in this."

She hid her brief smile. Bosun Sharpe had been here to see her less than a day after coming aboard, about pretty much the same thing. If Christian was the deputy, Sharpe would be the Sheriff. However while the Master At Arms concentrated on possible illegalities, the Bosun concentrated on keeping her ship smoothly running. "And how is your investigation going?"

"Not bad so far. I've already brigged the man and his doxies, and am waiting for the Bosun to return aboard to commence interrogation."

She looked up, eyes cool. "Brigged them? On whose authority?"

"As the captain should know-" He began. She hated it when people started a comment in that way; it implied that the one spoken too; whatever rank, was clueless, even if they did happen to be an officer. "-I have the authority to incarcerate malefactors when I have proof of a violation of the regulations. I have proof of the bootlegging, and the misappropriation, and only await the evidence of who else is part of this scheme. So, according to the regs, I arrested Engineering second Dollaryde and the two Andermani woman that bunk with him."

"Is that so." She leaned back, looking at him coolly. "Tell me, Mr. Christian, have you read the Admiralty Addenda to the regulations concerning Armed Merchant Cruisers?"

"No ma'am."

"Well I have. According to the addenda, there is a large amount of leeway given to the commanding officer, that's me, as to what is and is not allowed aboard ship."

"Pardon me for saying this, ma'am, but this tub isn't an armed cruiser. She's a fleet collier, and they follow the same regs as any fleet auxiliary."

Rebecca and the other Manticoran officers had spent days explaining Manticoran sporting events to Lieutenant Huggins on their last cruise. After being inflicted with soccer, rugby, polo and the Coup, Huggins had retaliated by explaining a game known as Baseball, still played on only six planets in all of Solarian space; and Grayson.

Some of the rules had stuck in her mind. Strike one, she thought. No one in his right mind called a ship a tub to his captain's face. "Let me set the record straight, Mr. Christian. While her designation is as a large fleet collier, Witch Maiden was designed as an armed merchant cruiser, and since my taking command has been expected to proceed as one. Colliers are trash haulers, carrying supplies from station to station with relative speed and are armed to defend themselves.

"However, an armed merchant cruiser is designed to carry the fight to the enemy when and where possible. Unlike a collier, she is doing more than going from station to station, she spends a lot of time out of contact with command authority, and is expected to act as a warship as circumstances dictate. She is also expected to remain on patrol for a length of time that would stretch a warship's resources; the average patrol leg for a warship is a bit more than six months. During the first war with Haven when I was assigned aboard as tactical officer of this very ship that operational patrol was 19 months out of contact beyond occasional communications traffic.

"She can not expect to have access to the R&R facilities a fleet unit does; and cannot avail herself of local facilities very often. Due to that and the alcoholic beverages stores are limited, a small operation by what you might call a bootlegger can be allowed under that Addenda at the captain's discretion."

"Small? We have found six 200 liter vats, captain! Not to mention a still!"

"Correct me if I am wrong." She purred, "But this ship will have a full crew of 2400 people on our next deployment, correct?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And 1200 liters works out to what, a little over 2500 pints?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"So this operation is supplying approximately one pint per crewmen per brewing cycle; every 14 days if I am not mistaken."

"Ma'am it isn't just quantity under the regs. They allow a crewman to brew up to 10 liters for personal consumption with the permission of their officers. But making more than that, or selling it... that makes it bootlegging."

"My father was a lawyer, I do know the definition of bootlegging."

"He may have been a lawyer, but Navy Regs are not like civilian criminal law."

Strike two. "Allow me to correct your misconception, Mr. Christian. My father was retired Rear Admiral Robert Michael Duvalier, Baron Duvalier." His face went red, then pale. "Yes. He was once the Judge Advocate General of the Navy. He served in JAG for over half of his career, ending it as the head of JAG for ten years before retiring to manage his estates. Since he always wanted one of us to be a lawyer, he discussed cases he was working on with us at dinner. So yes, He, knew, as I do, the regs in this regard." She watched his face run through different thoughts. She'd play poker with this man any time.

"When Mr. Dollaryde started his original operation, he was caught almost immediately by the Bosun. Mr. Riley who was the Bosun at that time assisted him, since he, of course, knows the Addenda I have mentioned, and the production at that time was actually just over the ten liter ceiling you mentioned. He, along with the Master at Arms you replaced assured Dollaryde stayed within regs by using the addenda to get permission to expand it.

"His larger operation was approved at the highest level aboard this ship; at the time, the ship's executive officer. All material used in fabricating those vats came from store requisitioned for him by those senior ratings, and paid for by him from his salary. You cannot misappropriate what has been authorized. The product was tested for assured quality by the outgoing ship's medical officer. All funds for expanding it and the necessary ingredients were verified and issued by the outgoing Purser via the ship's discretionary fund, and countersigned by the senior officer when it began to show a profit, which would be me.

"As for profiteering, it is defined as an act that pays dividends to the person carrying it out; yet Dollaryde has put all funds from 'selling' his product in the ship's discretionary funds. He uses those funds he has added to purchase more ingredients, and nothing else. So his personal profits are nonexistent. If I am correct, we have seven hundred dollars in the fund that arrived there from his efforts during our last deployment, allowing us to purchase more of our own needs. Also by 'buying' his output, we now have over 1400 dollars that was not spent on buying beers from the Solarian systems we passed through.

"So by definition, every crewman we had aboard ship has profited, and is therefore equally guilty." She leaned forward, hands folded beneath her chin. "So are you going to arrest us in order of rank? Or alphabetically?" Christian's mouth moved like a fish out of water as he tried to think of an answer. Rebecca took pity on him. "So, you will release Mr Dollaryde and his associates; after all, they are getting married as soon as they can get the permission."

"As to that, captain, the regs disapprove of-"

Strike three; she wished she could just dismiss this man as the Umpire (was that the right word? The game still confused her.) could in that weird game. "That is quite enough." While her voice was still conversational, he reacted as if she'd struck him with a whip. "There is no regulation denying an enlisted man the right to get married, only custom which says he should wait until he gets his 1st class rank. Nor is there a prohibition about whether he should or should not marry a foreign national; though, a captain can decline to allow it. The same is true for the Andermani Navy, so all they needed was the permission of their superior officers; Commander Kiel for the two women, and myself for Dollaryde, and approval in this case from the Andermani Naval attache and the Admiralty JAG office, which is what they are waiting for.

"Now that those have been addressed, do you have any further business with me?"

Christian started to shake his head, then his eyes grew sly. "Captain I do have a report that someone aboard has a cat, which is against regulations. It's been seen in hydroponics-" As he spoke, Oselli came in.

"Sorry to interrupt, captain. Irene has had her daily romp in hydroponics." He set down the cat who promptly raced across the room and leaped into Rebecca's lap. She watched Christian's face pale again.

"Let me know when you find the culprit. Dismissed." She watched him slink out, then looked at Oselli. "You planned that little 'cat sighting', Os."

"I did, ma'am." Oselli replied. "He took it upon himself to tell Mr Dollaryde that it would be a cold day in hell before he got to marry the girls, then he paraded Dollaryde and the Klumbach twins through the passageways like felons in shackles boasting out loud about how he'd caught them fair and square. I felt it was the least I could do to break his kneecaps over Irene too."

"He did what?"

"Why do you think he waited until the Bosun wasn't aboard?" Oselli told her. "He spoke to the Bosun as he is required to do when he found the vats. She told him you already knew and approved, and he replied he'd have to speak to you personally about it. No doubt he expected you to take his side."

She looked at him for a long moment. "And who, pray tell, convinced him I would?"

"One of the chiefs, I think, ma'am."

"I even know which one." She replied. She scratched Irene's ears. "Just for the record, Os, if you had told me what he did to the Darling Duo before he came in, I would have personally place kicked him out the nearest airlock toward the sun. Thank you for... mitigating my reactions this one time. But I want to know when he oversteps his authority again before he reports."

The annunciator sounded. "Lieutenant Hughes to see you, Ma'am."

"Maybe they've finally given her new orders." Rebecca said. "Send her in."

The door hissed open, and Diedre Hughes strode in. She was a solid woman with her red hair tied in a ponytail down her back, and green eyes that reminded her of Gaelin Watson's Holmes. She saluted, and Rebecca returned it. "How may I help you, Diedre?"

"I've received orders, ma'am. An Executive officer's spot. Since your new exec and A-Tac are both aboard, I figured I'd tell you, then bring them in."

She stood, walking around the desk to shake hands. "Good for you. I hope you do well in your next posting. Send them in."

Hughes saluted, and marched back out. Rebecca looked at the door, which stubbornly stayed closed. "Where are-"

The door opened and Hughes, now wearing a Lieutenant Commander's insignia marched back in, followed by a young woman in a brand new Ensign's uniform. They snapped to attention. "Captain, Commander Hughes and Ensign Abigail Carruthers requesting permission to report aboard as Executive officer and Assistant Tactical officer."

Rebecca gave them a smile and a salute. "You have excellent timing as always, Number One."

"The timing is due to Chief Oselli, ma'am." Carruthers said. "I arrived aboard yesterday, but he asked Commander Hughes and myself to wait until he set up the appointment for us to report aboard."

She turned her head to look at her keeper. "And what reason did he give?"

"That you would have some unpleasant business to deal with first today, so you needed something pleasant to follow. Something about the new Master at Arms." Hughes replied.

She sighed. "His timing was excellent, since I did need something to cheer me up." She admitted. "Are you fully up on what's happening aboard, Diedre?"

"Yes, skipper. I wasn't sure if you knew, but our purser's assistant is a Sphinxian, and he has a treecat. So we have someone to take care of Irene at need."

"That's good news." She motioned toward the module in the corner of the office. When she decided to keep Irene aboard, she had bought the latest version of a treecat survival module on the market. However Irene didn't like being alone in it. "How about our new department heads?"

"Surgeon Lieutenant Commander Ramsey will be reporting in by this afternoon, along with Commander Hayes and Lieutenant Gill, our new Communications officer. Also the replacements for our LACs will be coming aboard," she looked at her chrono, "One hour from now."

"Has Lieutenant Huggins been informed?"

"Yes, skipper. She's going to greet them after you have. We are also getting four midshipmen for this voyage to arrive today at 1600. I wanted Abbie here, because technically she's supposed to be OCTO."

Officer Candidate Training Officer was an important post during a deployment. The OCTO's purpose was to run the midshipmen ragged learning their new trade. However that was usually an additional duty assigned to the A-Tac, or if they were too busy, the Executive Officer.

"So you will be taking OCTO this deployment?"

"Well yes, and no, skipper."

"I sense a Machiavellian plot. Sit down and fill me in." They sat, and Os arrived with steins of beer.

"What I'm going to do is have Abbie handle the OCTO duties with my oversight. After all, she has been run ragged on this very ship, and knows the most difficult duties here already. She will give me a listing of assignments, and I will alter them as necessary. I have already told her that if it gets to difficult, I will merely step in and take over."

"Ah. Well, Abbie, think you can handle it?"

"I'll give it my best." The girl looked down into her beer. "My main worry is that I might feel too much sympathy for them. After all, it was only Michael and I last year until you added the other two snotties from the outgoing personnel."

"Couldn't have them lording it over the two of you, Abbie."

"Actually, I think you cracked down on us when Michael was assigned to the prize crew." She said softly. She didn't mention that the young man she had worked alongside had died in the Yawata Strike.

"Absent friends." Rebecca toasted, and they murmured in reply before sipping. "We did crack down, because Michael was the spark to the rest of you, and we had to set the fire ourselves. Though you did get the better part of two weeks after the report where we didn't. But diamonds are only lumps of coal under immense pressure, and you proved to be a diamond."

"Thank you, Captain."

"So I expect you to be that spark in his stead. You know what needs doing, and how a snottie can shirk aboard here. So whenever you see someone slacking, just let the Exec know, and we can come up with something disgusting for them to do."

"Understood."

"Now you are handling a spot usually assigned to a lieutenant, Abbie, and while you have a flair for tactical operations, you have almost twice as much on your plate compared to when you merely assisted as J-Tac just from the new assignment. I think you can handle it; so did Diedre from the efficiency report she wrote for you. If you think it might be a stretch, tell me now, or when it becomes too much."

"I'll do it, or die trying."

"I don't think you have to go that far, but I admire your spirit. Well, ladies, let's be about it." She sighed. "Now if only the Admiralty will get off their lead bottoms and come through for Dollaryde, my day will be perfect."

"About that..." Hughes took a chip folder from her blouse. "Abbie arrived yesterday, but I have been here since the night before. This arrived in our message queue this morning and I decided to bring it up personally."

Rebecca looked at the folder. "You do know that giving your captain two surprises in less than an hour can be hazardous to your health, Number One."

"Yes, Mr. Watson told me that before he departed. However Holmes thought doing so made sure to keep the captain on her toes, captain, sir."

"If Holmes were human, I would be afraid to bend over in the shower around him." Rebecca commented, taking the folder and slotting the chip. She spent a long time looking at it, then tapped her intercom.

"Communications, Chief Winston."

"Have Engineering rating Dollaryde and the Klumbach twins report to my office at once, chief."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Bad news, skipper?" Hughes asked.

"I know how good a poker player you are, Diedre, but I have yet to get any reports about our junior here. So you'll just have to wait."

A few minutes later, the three enlisted personnel arrived, and arrayed themselves at attention. Rebecca had noticed that the women always arrayed themselves as if flanking him when together. The few times she had seen them off duty they were a six legged giggling mass moving through the passageways, always with him in the center.

They saluted. "Reporting as ordered, captain." Fengniao reported. She was senior in grade to her sister, though from their personnel files, only by two days.

"At ease." They relaxed incrementally. Rebecca hid her smile. "I have just received this from the Admiralty. The Andermani Navy is understandably upset that they are losing two ratings of your caliber, and have held up your promotions to chief petty officer because of this. JAG and the Foreign office have gotten together with your naval attache and come up with a compromise.

"Attention to orders." The three snapped to attention, though their eyes showed the hurt. "Pursuant to Andermani regulations, the Klumbach twins are ordered to report aboard their new ship immediately. Once there, they will assume their duties as 1st class petty officers." Their shoulders sank. "That ship is HMS Witch Maiden. Pursuant to orders from the Admiralty, upon arrival there, the Klumbach twins are to be separated from Andermani service, and transferred in grade to the Royal Manticoran Navy. At that time they have permission to marry at a date not yet set."

The three of them stared at her. "At a date not yet set?" Dollaryde asked softly.

"Well you can't very well have the navy telling you when it will occur, now can you, Mr. Dollaryde?" They stared at her with dawning understanding. "Once the date has been set, the Twins will receive their Chief's rockers." Rebecca looked up as Os came in, a bottle of brandy on a tray with glasses. "So if you would tell your captain when it is to occur, we can get the rest of this mess cleared up."

"As soon as possible!" Dollaryde almost shouted. The women hugged him from either side.

"Well that was quick. Once you've made the arrangements for any guests and the priest, let me know."

"None of us are very religious, Captain. I was thinking... Could you perform the ceremony?"

She looked into the hopeful eyes. "When, Mr. Dollaryde."

"Would the day after tomorrow be too soon?" He asked as if he expected her to say no.

"With us deploying in less than two weeks? It would be just under the wire. I will inform your division heads, and you had best spend the time between now and noon of the day after tomorrow letting any people who need to know to get up here for it."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"But first," Os began passing out glasses to the officers and enlisted, though he did start with the stunned women and their soon to be husband. Rebecca made sure Os also had a glass before lifting hers. "A toast to the Darling Duo and their soon to be husband. May life grant you the best of times, and keep your love true."

"Here, here!" the officers called, and they all sipped.

New teeth

The five LACs coasted in, and began sliding into their landing bays. Rebecca Huggins watched them with envy, especially the one marked Katana one. She had received her promotion on time as had her surviving squadron mates, so she was no longer a J.G. Her glance strayed to the others. Another Katana, two Ferrets, and two Shrikes. That meant her assets were evenly balanced. One of the problems from the last deployment had been the preponderance of Shrikes; she had seen three of them lost simply because she had been forced to thrust them into an environment where they had a lesser chance of survival compared to the newer models.

Of course these were the new versions of each. The Shrike D carried the newer missiles with half a million miles more range; the Ferret Cs had the updated EW suites making them superior to any previous model, and the Katana Bs had improved targeting systems. In fact her crews had spent the last week getting used to the new bells and whistles when their own birds had been replaced.

Her head cocked. Why did that one Shrike have a gold circle? That meant... A new squadron commander? She was stunned. She had been replaced and not had not even been worthy of being told? The intercom at her desk chimed, and she tapped it. "Pri-fly, Lieutenant Huggins."

"Ah, good, I got you personally, Rebecca." The captain's voice sounded cheerful. "Your new birds are arriving, I see. Send their COs down, then I'll have them go back up for the briefing."

"Yes, ma'am. I will assure the new squadron commander knows what to do." There was no pain in her voice as she said it. After all, it was normal for a Squadron to have a lieutenant commander, not some lowly lieutenant. She had enjoyed her stint, but rules were rules.

There was a long pause. "New squadron commander? What new squadron commander?"

"Shrike 003 has a squadron commander marker according to my tactical readout, Captain."

"If they sent me a lieutenant commander, I should have been informed, Rebecca. I'll find out what's happening. But until I say otherwise, you are still in charge. So kick them in gear and get them down here soonest."

"Yes, ma'am." She switch it off, and watched on the monitors as the crews disembarked. She tapped the annunciator. "Commanding officers of newly arrived LACs, report to the Captain's cabin, please." One man stepped from the mass, and began shouting orders. She sighed. Oh, him.

Rebecca looked up as her annunciator sounded. "Yes, corporal?"

"Lieutenant Quintain and a party of four reporting aboard."

"Just one moment." She brought up the name and the corresponding personnel file. "Send them in."

The hatch snapped open, and the new LAC commanders came in. She noticed the ones following the lieutenant first. They were all enlisted personnel in a uniform she recognized as from the Republic of Sidemore, all Warrant officers; one WO4, a WO3, and two WO2s. Depending in time in specialty, the senior one was being paid as much as the lieutenant that marched them in like common enlisted men. Her attitude, already soured by his high handedness became almost acrid.

Now she looked at the man leading them. He was at least half their age, and while he had a full lieutenant's bars, the only medal he wore was for being at the battle of Manticore. That was three strikes without even opening his mouth.

"Lieutenant Matthew Quintain and a party of four reporting as ordered, Ma'am!" He saluted, as did the others."

"At ease, gentlemen and ladies." She told them. She looked them over, and was pleased with the competent looks the Warrants gave her. "You are joining Composite Squadron 1175. On our last deployment, they killed two Solarian Podnaughts by themselves, with an assist on a third. They also took fifty percent losses doing so. So I expect you to live up to that record. Welcome aboard. Report to Pri-fly for your intro briefing. Mr. Quintain, a word in private, if you please."

The Warrants snapped to attention, and marched out. Rebecca looked at the man remaining. "By whose authority did you mark your craft with a commander's icon?"

"I checked your losses, ma'am, and the standings when we all made lieutenant. I outrank everyone aboard, so that makes me the Squadron commander, ma'am."

"I beg to differ, lieutenant. Your class standings were lower than Rebecca Huggins, who is my present squadron commander, and survived the destruction of her craft. You both made your J.G rank the same day, but she made her lieutenant's rank ahead of you. She also earned medals of valor for the Battle of Manticore, while all it seems you did was survive it." She leaned forward.

"I know a detached Squadron command is a plum assignment, but you don't have it yet. So a word to the wise in your shell-like. You have seriously ticked off both your squadron commander, and your captain with that show of arrogant presumption. Bringing the Warrant Officers down here like children too stupid to find the head did not improve matters. Don't let it happen again, or I'll snap you back so hard, you'll think you were a first year cadet. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, captain." He almost whispered.

"Then get up to Pri-fly. Until you've risked yourself and delivered half as much as my other surviving LAC commanders, I expect you to walk and talk softly. Dismissed."


	3. New Blood

New Blood

The pinnace docked at personnel airlock four. With the crew flooding aboard it was faster than waiting for Cargo two to open again. The midshipmen swam the tub in order of seniority, meaning Chin-Li Krueger of the Imperial Andemani Navy went first Joshua Stanhope, Grayson Space Navy went second, and the two Republic of Sidemore midshipwomen, Jessica Riyal and Stacey Kramer last. With experience in zero gee, they allowed enough room for the gear they towed, so when Stacey landed on the deck the others were far enough away to allow her to pull her trunk out of the way of the enlisted men that followed.

"Request permission to come aboard, sir?" Krueger requested for all of them.

"Permission granted." The Ensign returned the salute. He checked his clipboard. "The ratings will take your gear to the Middie quarters. You four are to report to the Exec on the bridge."

"Zu Befel!" Krueger replied. "Come." He started off, but the ensign coughed.

"Do you know where the bridge is, snottie?"

Krueger blushed. "No, sir."

"Fredericks, escort our... impetuous new officers to the bridge."

The seaman first saluted. "Yes, sir." He turned to the young officers. "If you will follow me please?" He led them past a group of missile techs and cargo handlers being commanded by a petite oriental woman in a uniform with Chief's stripes. Krueger slowed to get a better look, but Fredericks asked him to pick up the pace.

It wasn't far, really. Five decks up from the cargo bay, then two hundred meters forward past CIC. The bridge was cramped for something the size of a superdreadnought in mass, closer to what was proper for an older heavy cruiser. The tactical section was fully manned as three officers, one standing, the others seated worked through a problem.

"Commander? The new midshipmen." Fredericks reported.

"Thank you. Please stay for a moment, we'll need someone to guide them to their quarters." She turned, hands behind her back. "I am Commander Hughes, the executive officer. It's traditional for midshipmen and midshipwomen on their graduation cruises to be formally welcomed aboard their ships. That duty falls to either the executive officer or to the assistant tac officer, since she's normally the officer candidate training officer for the deployment. Our assistant Tac Officer was a middie herself on the last deployment, so you get two for the price of one. She will be in charge of your duties, I will be making sure it it as harsh as necessary. This is Abigail Carruthers, our A-Tac." Abbie turned, leaning back, hands clasped.

"Before you think she is too young to know that job, I will tell you know that some of the most innovative tactics we used in our last deployment were suggested and tested by these officers. Those tactics on our last deployment along with our LACs led to the destruction of six podnaughts, the surrender under threat of two podnaughts, two CLACs, twelve battlecruisers, 12 heavy cruisers, eighteen destroyers and almost 450 LACs. So when you sit down in that chair as J-tac, expect to learn.

"All of you have already been told this over and over again. But I will repeat it one last time because it is the truth. This cruise, here aboard _Witch Maiden _is your true final exam. Even if you technically fail this, there are careers in the service assuming you don't do something stupid enough to put you in from of a court-martial board or otherwise prove unworthy. But," she let her green eyes sweep their faces, and there was no longer any smile in them, "if you screw up badly enough aboard _Witch Maiden_, you may not receive a commission in your nation's fleet. If you screw up less than totally, you might receive a commission, but it won't be a commission as a line officer, meaning you will never hold command of a ship.

"Remember that, Ladies and Gentlemen. This is a pass-fail test. It isn't a game, and is not a test you can retake or make up. We know all of you are intelligent, motivated, and well educated; graduating from Saganami Island is not easy. We expect you to do well. And I strongly recommend to you that you demand a level of performance out of yourselves that exceeds what you've already done.

"The second point is this is going to be hard. It's supposed to be. In fact, it's designed to be harder than it really has to be, like drills. These two officers faced a month of drills where they lost every time because they made mistakes. It is a fact that some middies break on their snotty cruises, and that's always a tragedy. But it's far better that they break then, than break in action after they've received their commissions . . . or after they've actually received a command of their own. One is a sad commentary on a person's strengths, the other two cost more than one person's dignity, they cost lives that could have been saved.

"There are going to be times, over the next several months, when you're going to feel harried and driven to the point of collapse, where you will want to say to hell with it, and quit, and that is your choice, though it is the only crash and burn offense you can commit without facing a court. If you collapse, we're going to be there shouting at you not to give up until you really do quit, or you get back up and go on. Afterward, if you survive it, you'll know you can survive almost anything worse than the real thing, and, hopefully, you will have learned to have faith in your own capacity to rise to challenges.

"Third is that although you will hold temporary warrants as Queen's officers for this deployment, and although your positions in the chain of command are very real, you have not yet even attained what a civilian corporation might call an entry-level position. The warrants give you the authority to issue orders to those junior in rank, however that authority is a double edged sword.

"You are still technically a trainee, but unlike the trainee in civilian life, you can have your military life cut short because as an officer, even a temporary officer, if you are not where you are supposed to be, doing what you are supposed to do, it can all fall apart, and a later court of inquiry can point at you and assign blame. Once a man's career was destroyed because he wasn't where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be, and his ship was lost to enemy action. It took his heirs over a century to clear his name.

"Back during the third century Pre-Diaspora during a wet naval battle, William Sitgreaves Cox acted without orders abandoned his gunnery post after his gun crews abandoned theirs. He then went up on the main deck, where he carried his mortally wounded commanding officer to their sickbay. During his absence from the quarterdeck, all of the officer senior to him were killed or disabled. He returned to discover that he was not only the senior officer remaining, and in command, but his ship had been boarded.

"He was tried by court martial for dereliction of duty as commanding officer, and found guilty." Hughes leaned back. "One thing every naval officer learns is history. Look up USS _Chesapeake_ VS HMS _Shannon _during the War of 1812.

"You also face the difficult task of projecting authority over men and women many of whom are older than you are, with many T-years more experience than you possess. You must have confidence in yourself before you can expect those men and women to have confidence in you. And be assured that they will recognize any effort to lie to them, just as they'll recognize petty tyrants in the making when they encounter them. But your self-confidence can't stop with the ability to make them obey you. It must extend to the point of being willing and able to learn from them without sacrificing your authority.

"The fourth point is that you're making your snotty cruise in time of war. It's entirely possible that _Witch Maiden_ will be called to action while you are on board. You may be wounded. You may be killed and not even know you're in danger before you are dead. Abigail's fellow Midshipman made it home with a prize ship in time to die during the Yawata Strike. What is even worse, as I can tell you from personal experience, you may see those you care about—friends or those under your orders—killed or wounded. Some of them might even die because your orders personally send them to their deaths. Accept that now, but don't allow it to prey upon your thoughts or to paralyze you if the moment actually comes. Remember that aboard this ship, you are officers. You may live, or you may die, but your actions—whatever they may be—will reflect not simply upon you, but upon every man and woman ever called upon to wear the uniforms we all wear. See to it that any reflections you cast are the ones for which you want to be remembered . . . because you will be."

She paused, her eyes circling the stiff young people once more, and silence stretched out in the compartment. She let it linger for several seconds, then smiled again, suddenly. "And now that I've hopefully scared you all to death," she said in a much more cheerful tone, "I suppose I should also point out that it won't all be doom and gloom. You will find yourself feeling utterly exhausted from time to time, cursing your parents and birth. You may even feel your superiors are taking a certain unholy glee in contributing to your exhaustion. You might even be right about that. I feel a gallon sweat is easier to replace than a pint of blood.

"But that doesn't mean you won't find opportunities to enjoy yourselves. While we expect a level of professional demeanor and deportment, you won't be on duty all the time. I expect you'll even discover that those same superior officers may be surprisingly approachable if you find yourself in need of advice. Remember, People, you're here to learn, as much as to be tested, and while it's part of our job to identify any potential weak links, it's also our job to help temper and polish the strong ones.

"For example as a merchant cruiser, we have a relaxed view of what our crew can do, so if you see someone dressed in civilian clothes, don't assume they are out of uniform; they might be on a ship board pass. We also have what might be called a pub just forward of Prifly and there is no rank in the pub, so people can mingle as if they are just people, not officers and enlisted. To work out what is and is not appropriate, read the Admiralty Addenda to the regulations." She grinned. "So head down and unpack. Engineer Chief Foster will meet you there in thirty minutes, and he will be giving you a guided tour. I would suggest that you pick something you won't mind getting dirty in. He has a very hands on approach to tours.

"Fredericks, escort them to quarters. You officers will stay there ready to go. Dismissed."

Ten minutes later, the cargo rating had delivered them to what had once been merely junior officer's quarters, but now had a sign that read SNOTTY ROW. The four bunks in two tiers faced each other with a table bolted to the floor between them. "Head and showers are down the passage, second hatch on the aft bulkhead. Hardwired router for wireless access to the mainframe, and a small galley," He opened the hatch to show them. "Enough for making hot beverages, storing cold ones and cleaning up. Junior officers mess is port side forward, you're on third meal rotation until further notice." Fredericks motioned toward a printed schedule on the bulkhead. "Is there anything else I can help you with, sirs?"

"The chief down in Cargo 2, the small woman. Who is she?" Chin-Li asked.

Fredericks grinned. "Fengniao Klumbach, her twin sister is a Computer tech chief in CIC. I am sorry to say, sir, she's unavailable. She and her sister are marrying our head brewmeister day after tomorrow."

The Andermani looked at it with a considering expression. "You have a brewmeister aboard this... ship?"

Fredericks returned the same look coolly. "Yes, sir. Second class engineer Dollaryde. He makes some of the best beer in the Galaxy in our opinion." The statement suggested that the delay in saying 'ship' and his surprise that they had such a man aboard had not gone unnoticed.

"I was not insulting the ship." Chin Li demurred. "My brother served aboard her sister _Hexenkönigin _when she was in our service. Serving aboard _Hexenmädchen _is an honor."

"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you." The rating saluted, and departed.

"Ease down, Chin." Joshua Stanhope suggested, testing the upper bunk on the one side. "You do know we Graysons pride ourselves in our brewing too. Can't say the Manties might not know a thing or two about it." He took off his hard billed cap, tossing it on the bunk, then moving his locker over to lock down beside it. The two girls flipped over who got the bottom bunk, and Stacey anchored her locker down beside the upper. "Was it just me, or did the XO scare the crap out of you too?" She asked.

"We are used to that in the Imperial Navy." Chin Li commented, opening his locker to pull out an undress uniform. "The best way to make steel is to fold it until you have a lattice of fibers that will take the strain. We treat our cadets the same way; though having a chief petty officer punch you in the mouth when you're wrong is also part of that in the RaumsAkademie."

"Then thank god I'm in the Sidemore Navy instead." Riyal commented. Kramer agreed.

"That is odd though, Chin." Stanhope commented, shrugging into his own undress uniform. "Why did you end up doing your snottie cruise aboard a Manty warship instead of going back to the Empire for it?"

"While we are not going to be directly a party to this war with the Sollies, service in combat will be important to my later promotions. And as for 'warship'. This one and her sisters are neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat. We might see combat. But then again, we might only cruise between ports just like any fleet collier."

"Not if that last cruise was any indication." Jessica commented. "I read the unclassified reports. Over two hundred million tons destroyed, six SDs in combat, the rest after capture along with a slaver and a heavy cruiser as prizes. That is not something you expect from something that isn't a real warship."

"Peace, Jesse." Chin Li commented. "I will let the proof be in the pudding, as that old saying goes."

There was a polite cough, and they all turned. The man standing there was shaped like a wall, with muscles upon muscles. He had the hash marks of almost 30 T years of service on his sleeve, along with three wound stripes and two for being mentioned in dispatches. Even in undress, he looked like someone who could make his own hatch by walking through the closest bulkhead. His voice when he spoke was soft and mellow. Obviously he didn't feel the need to actually threaten anyone to get their attention. " I am Senior Chief Engineer Patrick Foster. I will be your guide for a tour of the ship." He looked them over critically. "I see you've already changed into your grubbies. That is good since we'll be starting in hydroponics. If you will follow me please, young gentlemen and ladies?"

Wedding Preparations

And still they came. The few remaining marines of the original company departed to return to their unit, to be replaced by a reinforced battalion of 600. Pods, both Andermani design and Republican began to fill her cargo holds and launch rails. While the Republican were longer ranged, 54 million kilometers compared to the 26.5 million of the Andermani, the shorter ranged models were being loaded into cargo bay one for the launch rails. The other pods were too large to launch more than three at a time using the rails without a major refit.

All halted however when the captain assembled them in Cargo Two, where all of the small craft assigned had been docked to outside access ways to clear it. A space almost a kilometer by one half held the entire crew and guests. The captain came down the passage down the center in dress uniform. She took her place facing Francis Dollaryde in his dress uniform as Salvatore Hammerwell's Rite of Joy boomed from the speakers. Warrant Officer 4th Patrick Dollaryde escorted the twins in their wedding gowns down the aisle in place of their own dead father, delivering them like the precious jewels they were to his son.

Rebecca lifted the pad with the service on it. Part of her was bothered that such a joyous event was separated by only one page from the service for the fallen. She set the thought aside, looking at the three people watching her patiently. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered today before god and in the sight of this company to join this man and these women in holy matrimony."

The trio had written no vows of their own, and there was silence when she asked if any had just cause why they should not be joined. When it came to 'you may kiss the bride' it was amusing that instead of choosing one to kiss first, Francis brought them both together before him to have a three way kiss. The crew applauded as they turned, and were announced as Mr. and misses Klumbach-Dollaryde, the only condition all three had set; that neither name be lost.

The buffet had been driving the crew mad; Rebecca had it laid out before the ceremony, and once it was done, with, her permission, the crew descended like piranha on a stupid cow. Rebecca smiled as she watched. The trio moved through the throng; neither woman would let their prize free, and a lot of those who watched envied the younger man.

She pushed herself toward them, and all three looked up at her approach. "My wedding gift is to all of you." She handed Dollaryde a simple scroll of paper. "Within Oak Glen there is an old brewery that is now defunct. That building and 100 hectares of land had been deeded to you by me to perpetuity. All I ask, is one keg a year as long as you accept it." She handed him the patent. He bowed to her, the women holding him bowing with him.

Rebecca moved away. "A fine gift." She looked at Jinhua Kiel in civilian clothes worthy of a Graffin. "A match for mine." The Graffin held up a scroll. "I have a similar grant within the Empire in Sedlow."

The trio conversed close enough that none could hear. "My lady Graffin, and you, Baroness. Do you make this that only one can be chosen?" Dollaryde asked.

The women looked at each other, and laughed. "With the same provision both are acceptable, Herr Dollaryde." Jinhua said.

"Then we thank you both." Fengniao told them.

"Then go celebrate." Rebecca laughed.

The party went on. Rebecca found herself free of the press, heading for the lift. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy a good party, but she had to report for orders the next day. She reached it sighing as the doors closed. It shot upward, and she loosened her collar in relief. A little work, then perhaps the party would still be going.

She exited at the Senior officer's deck, nodding to the sentry on her office as she strode in. What she did not expect was a young girl, perhaps teenaged, who looked up from the cat in her lap. "Excuse me, young lady. What are you doing in my office?"

"My Mutti told me you had a beautiful cat. She spoke to your steward to get permission for me to visit her." The girl held up Irene, who didn't give a damn who was petting her as long as she was getting the attention.

Mutti, German for mother. "Ah, your mother is Jinhua?"

"Very few call her by her given name now that she has the title." The girl commented. "She will be happy that her investiture did not overawe you." She stroked Irene. "I am sorry, Kapitain. I did not introduce myself. I am Fenghua Kiel. I am nowhere close to the title; my cousins are first at my mother's request."

Rebecca finished unbuttoning her tunic. "Has Oscelli made sure you had something to drink? Hot chocolate perhaps?"

"Yes, Kapitain, though I prefer hot cider." She lifted Irene who merely hung there, eyes closed, purring. "Such a beauty she is. Like your late father's."

"How did you know what kind of cat my father had?"

"My Mutti knows everything." The girl commented.

"And she didn't say she'd kill you?"

"Only once." The girl confided. "I didn't ask her anything else."

"Smart girl." Rebecca walked to the pantry, returning with a bottle of water. "So you came for the wedding?"

"No, I came to see the cat. Didn't I liebchen?" She lifted Irene, who meowed and purred. She set the cat down, and stood. "Thank you for your patience, Kapitain." She walked over, and held out her hand. "It was a pleasure to have met you." Rebecca shook her hand and watched her leave in bemusement. She keyed the computer on, and brought up the files she had to check. The one thing she had learned today was where _Witch Maiden_ would be operating, and she wanted to check the systems carefully.

She had just finished the first section, the defenses already in place (Pathetic) when a cup of tea landed on her desk. "Thank you Os."

"The reception is still going on, captain. It won't be going much longer, another hour perhaps. The ship isn't going to die horribly because you take a short break."

"I know, Os. It's just our operational area is almost undefended."

"It is?"

"Yes. We're assigned as a Q ship to 10th fleet to patrol the Northern frontier from Foshee in East to Pequod in the West, but the main threat is south of Tillerman and along the southern frontier. That's why the defenses are still so pathetic. Some indigenous LACs about as modern as Grayson deployed before the Alliance was formed, a few destroyers that would be called frigates if they were honest, and that's it. Worse yet our assigned area is over 600 light-years long, and to be effective we have to patrol all eight of the systems in the first and second tier meaning the depth we have to cover is between 80 and 160 light years deep. It's a volume larger than the Silesian Confederacy assigned to one ship! Even at the worst of our draw down during the first war we had at least half a dozen warships assigned to that volume before Operation Trojan Horse started."

"Maybe we won't be alone."

"I hope not." She said grimly shutting down the computer. "Well I have to go back down and pretend this is doable out of our resources."

"I don't believe it." Chin-Li commented, watching Dollaryde dancing with his brides to a waltz. Instead of holding one of them to him as would be normal, all three were hand in hand in a circle, moving one way half a circle, then back again. Occasionally he would twirl one in to hug her, then the other.

"Don't believe what?" Stanhope asked sipping. "If this is his beer, he is good."

"I don't believe those two beauties tied themselves to that Vogelscheuche!"

"English, Chin."

"He looks like a scarecrow!"

Stanhope remembered a story, the Wizard of Oz, and how they described one character. When he had been older he had looked it up the term, a shirt and pants stuffed with straw attached to a framework of wood so it looked like a man standing in a field of grain. He looked at the man again. He did look rather like a scarecrow, barely a dozen centimeters taller than his brides, and as skinny as a rail. "Well maybe he has qualities beyond brewing they appreciate."

"Or maybe they don't know any better." The Andermani commented.

Stanhope merely nodded. "Try it." He held out his stein to the other middie.

Chin Li took it, sniffing before sipping. "A bit rough, I think. But not too bad."

As a young man, Stanhope had considered becoming an actor. His attempt had run into a teacher who was so abusive that few stayed in the troop for very long. He'd learned after being criticized roundly that when it comes to subjective judgments, you always failed. No matter how good you were, the other person merely said you weren't good enough. In his judgment, this beer was excellent.

"Gentlemen." They turned, snapping to attention. Abigail looked them over. "I think that should be your last beer; we still have half a day of work to do. When this ends, you," she looked at Chin Li, "will be assisting in returning the small craft to the bay as one of the pilots. You," she looked to Stanhope, "are to work in Cargo four. We are receiving the last of the Republican pods at 1600, and the pods already stored there have to be stacked to clear space for them."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Both of you check your crews carefully. Make sure they haven't imbibed too deeply. Replace anyone you think is impaired. "Have you seen Riyal and Kramer?"

"Stacey is over at the buffet. She doesn't drink much, so she stopped drinking after her first. Jessica is right out there dancing."

"Then you, mister Krueger will let Kramer know to report to engineering for the next watch. Mister Stanhope, tell Ms Riyal to go to the bridge to work with Ms O'Malley on verifying the charts we received after the next dance. Gentlemen." She strode off.

"Well, I'm going to make another run at the buffet before we go. That shrimp salad was choice, and there was fresh bread, so a quick sandwich to take with me sounds good." Stanhope drained off the last of his beer. "I'll tell Stacey for you."

"Thank you, Joshua." Chin Li commented, his eyes still on the newlyweds.

Interference

Francis Dollaryde stood, stretching. The girls still lay sleeping, and he watched them in amazement as he dressed. He still didn't believe it. They were his wives now, and the wedding and reception would be memories he treasured. As for last night... He blushed at the memories. He sat on the very edge of the bed carefully to pull on his boots. He'd just gotten the second one sealed when an arm wrapped around his neck and he fell backwards between the women.

"Such a fickle creature." Fengniao commented, biting him on the chin. "He ravishes us through the night, yet expects to get away without a morning kiss."

"A very cruel man, our Leibchen." Cao Mei bit him on the neck.

"Hey, you're leaving marks!" Dollaryde complained laughing.

"Maybe we want all those who see you to know that we do bite." Fengniao purred, then she looked at her sister. Without a word both of the women began tickling him unmercifully. He struggled, laughing and trying to beg them to stop as he squirmed. They finally stopped, and one after the other gave him a deep long kiss.

"Go, you horrible man. We will punish you further tonight." Cao Mei said, then she leaped up, legs and arms wrapped around him to give him another kiss. "Or maybe you can punish us?"

"I'll think about it." He pretended to be nonchalant until Fengniao wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Or better yet I can lick you both into shape."

"Promises, promises, Schatzie." Fengniao murmured in his ear. He set Cao Mei down to give her a kiss as well, then left.

He blushed every time someone looked at him as he headed toward Fusion two. He had enough time to check the vats before he had to report; the beer in three of them should be ready to fill the kegs by tomorrow, and the others needed to be monitored. He told Lieutenant Crell who was the watch officer that he was going to run and check the vats, then headed the 100 meters further aft to main Hydroponics.

The goofy grin he'd had since he woke up slipped when he smelled the spilled beer. All of the vats and the still had been drained, but the heating elements had been left activated. The grain mash he'd started the previous day in one of the vats had burned into the metal meaning he would have to scrape the mass away from the shell of the vat and literally polish it down and sanitize it before using it again. The other five had only had liquid in them, but the wort and yeast had varnished the metal meaning he'd have almost as much work cleaning them before starting again.

But why would someone destroy all of his work?


	4. The Face of the Enemy Revised

The Face of the Enemy

Rebecca exited the lift and walked toward her pinnace. Deidre paced her. "We're almost ready to depart, skipper. Slated to move on schedule."

"Once we know what the schedule is. The crew?"

"95% are already aboard. The last draft is coming aboard today. We're also waiting on the Havenite missile techs we're taking."

Rebecca almost snarled. Instead of just having some Havenites aboard for a few hours showing her people the differences between their missiles and Manticore's, she had been informed that she was carrying almost a hundred of the bastards to deliver to Spindle before deploying, and a dozen more who would remain aboard. The intercom sounded, and the loudspeaker clicked. "Republic of Haven Pinnaces requesting permission to come aboard."

Rebecca changed course, heading to the nearest intercom panel. "Grant permission."

"Understood, Captain." Then the loudspeaker clicked again. "All hands, Cargo two is opening hatches. All hands clear Cargo two." Followed by a klaxon as crewmen scurried toward the inner hatches. Closer to the pinnace than the hatches, Rebecca and Hughes went aboard, and the pinnace buttoned up. They could hear the klaxon even inside the vehicle, then it died as air was pumped out of the compartment.

If it were an holo drama the approaching ships would have been of either a clunky design since the old People's Republic had been so behind technically, or a design that just looked evil, like the bad guys in such dramas.

Actually they were clean well designed craft, only the marking telling her it had belonged to an enemy she had fought for almost half of her life. They settled side by side near her own pinnace, then the hatches closed, and the compartment re-pressurized. She opened the hatch of her own pinnace as the side hatch of the nearest Havenite opened instead of the stern ramp, and a dozen men and women in the Republic of Haven's uniform came down the steps. The leader wore a Commander's uniform, with a lieutenant JG, an ensign, and nine enlisted men from a Senior Chief down to a 1st class computer tech.

She stepped back onto her deck as they stopped, forming a line while the senior officer came forward. He was almost two meters tall, slim and lithe, with blond hair and a ready smile. He stopped in front of Rebecca, and snapped a salute. "Request permission to come aboard?"

She returned it. "Granted." Her hand dropped back down. "Captain Rebecca Duvalier of HMS _Witch Maiden_. This is my Executive officer Lieutenant commander Diedre Hughes."

"Lieutenant Commander Phillipe Duval, Detachment 1241." He replied. "Though my last assignment was tactical officer of the minelayer _Tassfaronga_. The personnel you are merely transporting are still aboard, or aboard the other pinnace." He motioned. "May I?" She nodded. He took her down the line. She greeted each of them gravely. Except for the 1st class, all were actually rather attractive people. That man visibly fit the 'thug' role you might have expected of an HD drama, but he had a surprisingly soft and mellow voice, and a tendency to blush.

"All of my people are specialists in our missile pods, and they have full documentation equal to your operator's manuals for them." Duval said as they reached the end of the line. "My computer specialist Jacques Chartaine is fully conversant with all of our deployed penaids, and how they correspond with your own equipment. Blush for the women, Jacques." Chartaine blushed on cue.

"Well Commander, we both know that it will be hard for our people, on both sides, to put aside twenty years of hatred. My officers and senior ratings have already been told to accept the good your Navy has done is helping to protect our homes. I ask that you and yours try not to turn up the heat if at all possible. I would stay and welcome you aboard more fully, but I have a final briefing I must attend." She turned to Hughes. "Stay on top of it, Number One, and you too, Commander. One thing we don't need is starting a brand new war here."

Amen to that. Diedre thought as she saluted, and Rebecca entered the pinnace. She turned back to the man beside her. "If you would bring the other personnel out now, we'll see about quartering them."

More of the same

Rebecca looked at the office. It hadn't changed that much in the almost eight months since she had last seen it. She nodded to Yeoman 1st Kellogg, sitting with her briefcase on her knees. She stripped off the white beret, slipping it under her epaulette, and closed her eyes. What little she knew of the new assignment still worried her. There was no way any ship could patrol such a massive area efficiently.

"Captain? The Second Space Lord will see you now."

"Thank you." She stood, walking into the office. Vice Admiral Patricia Givens stood, walking around her desk to clasp Rebecca's hand. "Well done on that last deployment, Captain."

"We did what we could, ma'am." Rebecca replied.

"'What you could'." Givens snorted. "You handed the League a defeat that made Spindle look like a pillow fight! An SD task force, a CLAC task group, and a mothball fleet destroyed all in one system by one Merchant cruiser? What did you think we expected?"

"We did what we had to do, Ma'am."

"Tell it to the Queen, Captain." Givens turned to walk toward the small cozy conversation aside from her desk. "Both you and your LAC squadron commander are to be down at Mount Royal Palace tomorrow at 1400."

"Ma'am?"

Givens took a medal box from her desk, sliding it across the table to Rebecca. "You're going to receive your Monarch's thanks. And your LAC Squadron commander is to receive the Sword to go with her shield. But not until tomorrow."

Rebecca took the box, opening it. The Grayson shield was equal to the Manticoran Gallantry Medal. But the Sword and Shield was on the order of the Manticoran Conspicuous Gallantry Medal. While freely given before, she had never heard of a woman getting it.

"Now, you've been given the precis of your new mission."

"Yes, ma'am." Rebecca closed the medal box. "That worried me."

"How so?" Givens took her chair, fingers steepling below her chin.

"My Lord." Rebecca fell back on the title of the other woman's office. "According to the patrol schedule I have been given, you have my one ship acting again as an armed merchant cruiser trolling for pirates, and in so doing covering an area almost twice that of the entire Silesian Confederacy. I know seven of the eight systems in it have at least a destroyer already in place, but even with that added to the equation my one ship could never cover that volume by herself efficiently."

"Well spotted." Given laughed. "The delivery was an accident. A lieutenant down in Astrography sent the wrong packet; that one was going to HMAMC Wicklow, one of the other Trojan Horses bound for Spindle with six others. He was just told to send it to all of the present Merchant Cruisers, and didn't know that you had a different assignment. They're deploying tomorrow."

"No, Witch Maiden, and those other ships of your new command are going to Torch."

"Torch?"

"Yes. We in ONI are worried about what Mesa might do in that region. They tried to nuke Torch using StateSec holdouts as their mercenaries a few months ago. They were pounded to scrap by a Task Force from the Maya Sector, and all of the surviving ships were handed to Torch as the start of their navy. They also got sixteen of the SDs captured from Spindle which the Queen gave to them, along with all of the older Havenite ships of the Protector's Own from Grayson, so suddenly they're a tougher nut to crack; or will be when they grow into those ships. But we can't assist them directly at the moment.

"We have notified our treaty partners of the end of our war with Haven, but until we can have their representatives all get together with Haven's people to hammer out a true peace we won't even know how many of the Alliance members will remain. Not without having them think we're doing another High Ridge on them. Until that is done we cannot merely withdraw our units from those systems, or the ones we presently occupy that used to be Havenite until the plebiscites in those systems occur; That was part of the initial treaty, along with Erewhon being asked to assume oversight to those plebiscites.

"So almost a third of our ships are tied up until then. The Republic has the same problem. They can't very well stand down enough ships to man Torch's until the treaty is ratified without Senate Approval, which will happen sometime around the heat death of the Universe. Besides. We believe the Solarians will push the pace somehow, so every ship they have is necessary right now.

"We also dare not drawdown Home fleet too much to reinforce the Torch with the League only a transit away via the Beowulf link to the Junction, and Beowulf possibly under threat. Which is where you and the remaining twelve ships of Trojan Horse come in.

"We need to use merchant cruisers but the Janacek Admiralty shot us in the foot with that yet again. You command the only one of them with anywhere near full design capability. All but Witch Maiden have been gutted; no missile tubes, pod launching capability, but until now none with more than a token load out except your own, and no LACs, with no time or capability to reequip them. But those ships can be detached readily and are enroute here as we speak. As I just pointed out, Wicklow and some of the others are going to be sent to the Quadrant, in fact all but three are bound there. The other two are yours."

She took out a data chip. "Congratulations, Captain. You have been brevetted to Commodore in charge of Operation Treecat. The first of your ships will be here in time to greet you when you arrive at the terminus. Thanks to Sidemore, we even have an ace that wasn't anticipated."

"Sidemore? We are talking about the same system, aren't we?"

"Sidemore, in their own way, handed us as big a surprise as Grayson did when they began designing their own ships. That is why R&D weren't as surprised as you anticipated when you handed over those Solarian LACs. You see, the Sidemore navy has already fielded something like it."

"How did they manage that?"

"Their navy is young, barely eleven years old, and still small; barely a light task force so far. But thanks to Second Marsh they got a leg up we hadn't anticipated. All of the surviving LACs that were captured in the system were handed over to them, except for the ones we took ourselves for analysis, something like 400 of them. They also had the shipyard modules both the Dempsey and Hauptmann Cartels had sent in, and all of the wreckage from the destroyed Republican ships. What they did was use it. So four of their newest ships will be joining your flotilla."

"Four LACs?"

"Four CLACs to be precise." Givens waved a hand. "Someone there had read old Earth's Naval history. They designed light CLACs to carry the birds they have with the Grayson touch for their LAC complement."

"How did they pull that off?"

Givens laughed again. "When the Republic's Second fleet hit Marsh during Operation Thunderbolt they lost 10 SD(P), 6 older SDs and 3 CLACs. Not all of them were catastrophic kills either. Under interstellar law, that wreckage belongs to them. So among the salvage, they picked up a few hyper generators, compensators, and enough alpha and beta nodes in good condition. We took a few, of course for study. But the rest was theirs. That included all of the Pirate vessels we took."

"But they took four of the merchies around the four megaton range and designed their own carriers using Havenite hyper generators, Haven's version of the Grayson Mod 3 compensators, and SD alpha and beta nodes so they are actually a bit faster than your own ship. They also refit the Cimmeterres they have with fission plants and our EW gear, and changed out their missiles using the older Mk20 missiles our SDs and dreadnoughts assigned there still carried and have been judged as surplus. So you have ten missiles each with a 13 million kilometer range and off bore sighting.

"The CLACs they are sending are that first four with eight building. In fact we are looking at using the same concept to speed delivery of our LACs to the Quadrant after modifying their CLACs to carry our larger birds; as well as delivery of spare craft and crews to deployed CLACs as operations begin in earnest against the League."

"But their population is what, only about 20 million all told? They can't support that massive a build up without more people and a lot more money than we could offer them."

"They won't have to. Where do you think we placed the remedial education training center for Northern Silesia's old Confederation navy? Those who were competent and above all honest were retained in place as you know. But the others... we sent them to Sidemore. So they have enough officers and men there in training to crew about fifteen of their carriers at 3,000 men per ship once we weed out the criminal and stupid. You might say the price of their redemption is a cruise aboard one of Sidemore's units. And as for paying for them, Sidemore captured one of Andre Warnecke's pirates, and capturing Silas gave us the largest score against pirates in history."

Rebecca nodded. She'd heard about it all after the fact during her tenure in Silesia aboard this very ship. Silas; a merchant ship captured and converted to a sort of half assed liner had been on a run to the system where Warnecke sent the prizes his flotilla captured. When she'd come back into the Marsh system a month after HMAC Wayfarer had taken down Warnecke's men, she had sailed in fat and happy with eight hundred odd men from prize crews to find themselves under the guns of the six modern LACs left by that warship. Ten days later the smallest of the remaining pirates, a frigate, had waltzed in and gotten blown away; The LAC commanders didn't intend to take the chance with something that could shoot back.

The data retrieved from Silas' computers had been a gold mine. That information had broken not one but three rings of conspirators in the following years. One for the ships being sold, another for their cargoes, and a third for the black market suppliers of their missiles, inside both Silesia and the league. Two Siliesian Sector governors, nine Silesian officers from a captain to three Admirals, two OFS Shell Sector governors, the owners of seven small Solarian shipping lines and two Frontier Fleet Admirals had gone to the gallows over that. About a hundred lesser members of those conspirators had received prison sentences that were measured in decades.

Unlike their uneven record on genetic slavery, the League came down very hard on pirates and especially on their fences; unless their commanders happened to be OFS governors in the Verge. The Solarian courts had awarded Sidemore with more than enough funds to pay for the fleet they were building.

"On top of that, the carriers you'll be escorting will be leaving their LACs in Torch at the end of the deployment and getting paid well for them."

"It's a good thing someone is getting good from all of this hell."

"True. So on to your assignment.

"_Witch Maiden_ and her fellows are going to stop briefly at Erewhon to liaise with their Fleet command. They will then proceed to Torch where the CLACs will be stationed, supposedly to transfer their craft. However, they will be your ace in the hole at need.

"Torch and Beowulf's Biological Survey Corps will give you transponder codes as Andermani merchant vessels sold to the people of Torch, and manned by Manticoran nationals. Torch has already set up sales of pharmaceuticals and derivatives through companies in all four of the nearby Solarian Sectors, and had asked us to sell them some of our ships. However, we were unable to supply their need, so the Empire did, supposedly. To maintain that cover, each of your Q ships will drop off half of your loads of the Republican pods and the Republican teams to maintain and assist Torch in their use for system defense to clear up cargo space.

"You will be met there by representatives of the Maya Sector. What you will really be doing is looking for any sign of a build up of ships aimed at Maya Sector. The Frontier Fleet dispositions in those Sectors will be part of your briefing packet, so if a Sector has a sudden jump in deployed vessels from either Frontier Fleet, or any known Battle Fleet units you will know it.

"Your job this time is not to get in their face unless there is no alternative. The data you gather will not only aid us, it will cement a friendship we hope to expand with the Mayan Sector, And renew that link with Erewhon and Torch.

"We have an intelligence office with deeper contacts in that region than we do, and she will be assigned to your ship; ostensibly as a merchant factor and owner aboard." Givens tapped the button on her side of the table. The door hissed open, and Rebecca started.

"Hello, Captain." Jinhua Kiel said with a smile.

"Commander?"

"No, I am Grafin Du Sedlow, representing a consortium of Pharmaceutical manufacturers inside the Empire."

"I thought the Emperor was bowing out of the war."

"Oh he's bowed out of the Alliance, not out of the war." Givens commented.

"There are advantages to not being your ally during this conflict." Jinhua commented. "As your Queen and Lady Dame Honor Harrington-Alexander pointed out, if your Alliance were to send a fleet through to Beowulf and head for the Visigoth Wormhole junction, you would run into not only Battle Fleet but systems defense forces fighting you every step of the way. But if someone unaligned were to do so..." She gave a smile that any predator would love. "Mesa is only one transit away, and we have business with those fehlgeleiteten Übermenschen."

"Mother of God."

"Do not waste your prayers on them, Captain. They not only murdered the nephew of the Emperor and attempted to murder his son, they struck directly at the succession!" Jinhua's voice was harsh. "As your own bible says, they have sowed the winds, and now will reap the whirlwind."

"So you're just some noblewoman on this trip?

"A noblewoman who is still attached to our staff intelligence, with orders to pass on all information I gather from our embassies that is relevant to our... friends." Oh, and your boss."

Rebecca snarled. "Ever since you had me pretend to be your purser, you've dreamed of this day." She growled.

Jinhua dimpled. "Let us just say, captain, I am particular about who shares my bed."

"I think there is a story there-" Givens began.

"No Admiral. There is nothing to it, I swear!" Rebecca tried to defuse the comment.

"Don't swear, Captain. It's a very bad habit. Now if you would come with me..." Rebecca stood, her face threatening, and Jinhua's so sweet and light that the captain just had to find something to do to get even.

The Corbin Protocols: Phase One

The pinnace landed gently on the _Witch Maiden's_ deck, and the loudhailer called, "_Witch Maiden_ Arriving, _Witch Maiden_ aboard." as Rebecca stormed down the ramp. Behind her came Jinhua, seven servants, her daughter, and for all she knew, a partridge in a pear tree.

Unlike Commander Kiel, who had been able to arrange for the four lockers that held her gear, the Grafin Du Sedlow needed those servants just to shift the small mountain of gear that a Countess required to be perfect in all things. Fenghua Kiel walked with the captain as she stalked across her deck. "I know Mutti is enjoying herself, Captain, but she was ordered to make the, how you say, 'big splash' when we get to Torch and the League."

"So you know about that, Munchkin?"

"Munchkin? This word I do not know."

"A well loved children's story of the Pre Diaspora times. The munchkins were a people of small stature in a fictional world called Oz; the first people met by a young girl named Dorothy in the very first book of the series."

"A series of books about these Munchkins?"

"No, of the adventures Dorothy had in that world." Rebecca nodded to herself. "I will have chief Oselli download the series for you; though it is much better if someone reads it to you."

Fenghua's face fell. "My mother has not read me a story in a long, long time, kapitain. Mein Vater did long ago, but he died."

"That is sad. Tell you what, if I get the chance, I will read at least the first book to you. All right?"

"Wunderbar!"

Diedre Hughes looked at her captain, and the pint sized shadow. "Taking on passengers, are we, Ma'am?"

"Clear the area Commander Kiel had for her staff on the last trip, Number One. The large compartment are for the Grafin Du Sedlow and her daughter, the other for the servant staff. Have the closest mess deck arrange to feed them, though I think the Countess' cook might want to have some say in the menu..." She shrugged. "Give me a while, Diedre. It's the first I heard about it too."

"Yes, ma'am. As for cooking..."

Rebecca wanted to groan. "Out with it."

"The cook assigned to the Republican passenger's mess deck delivered something the Havenites protested."

"Who protested?"

"Captain Roclair. After hearing his protest, and investigating, I felt it was justified." Roclair was the senior officer of the entire Republican party.

"If you will excuse us, Fenghua?" She asked the girl. "Commander Hughes and I have a problem that needs solving." The girl headed back to her mother. "Out with it, Number One."

"For dinner, while the rest of the crew was having roast beef with all the normal trimmings, the Havenites were served cold cuts and bread, with limited condiments. By limited, I mean they had white bread, plain mustard and mayonnaise and nothing else, To drink they had water."

Rebecca closed her eyes, counting to ten in English, followed by Irish Gaelic, Scots Gaelic, Welsh Gaelic, and when that did not cool her down, Manx Gaelic followed by Breton. She opened her eyes. "Tell the Senior Chief that the same cook will make their breakfast. He is not to reprimand the person for his insulting behavior, nor apologize to the Havenites. I think I must trot out what an old skipper of mine used to do. What I call the Corbin Protocols."


	5. The Corbin Protocols: Warning Shot

The Corbin Protocols: Warning shot

Captain Jean Paul Roclair looked at himself in the mirror, wanting to rip it from the bulkhead. He had lost so many of his friends, family to the damn Manties, now this! He was to make nice, put up with their crap, even choke down the garbage they fed his people last night. He had complained to the Executive Officer, but what had he gotten? Nothing!

There was a knock on the open hatchway, and he glared at Duval. The bastard seemed to like this shit! "What?" He snarled.

"Time for breakfast."

"Oh that is truly a joy." Jean Paul growled. "What will we have this morning?" He asked with false cheer. "Perhaps sewage from their recycling centers? Maybe we will have to eat real shit this time!"

"The captain asked that we all be present for breakfast."

"So she can no doubt watch our humiliation."

"She did not say, Captain."

"Fine. But after breakfast, I will go to the flagship, speak with Admiral Tourville himself! This is unconscionable!" He pulled his uniform tunic down sharply, then stormed past his second. The others of his detachment looked at him, and he saw the fury in their eyes as well. "Follow me." He ordered.

They marched in step down the passageway to the dining area. He glared at the same 1st class cook that had fed them that insulting meal the night before. If nothing else, he would rip that man's liver out and feed it to him before he died. He was still four meters from the serving line when he heard, "Ten-Hut!" The reaction, whatever the navy was automatic. They all stopped, snapping to attention.

"As you were." Roclair turned as the Manticoran captain came in. She was, oddly enough, in a full dress uniform with a dress sword on her hip. "Good morning, Commodore Roclair. I have a habit of checking any mess aboard my ship where there have been complaints., and I felt you and your people should witness it." She walked down past the Republican ratings and officers liked she belonged; as if she were in their navy instead. First she went to the coffee tureen, filling a cup, then toward the serving line where the cook and the five messmen waited with trepidation. "Ah, 1st class cook Sinclair. One of our better, from what I had heard. And what are we serving our guests today?"

The cook looked as if his captain were a ticking time bomb. "We're... not ready to serve them yet, captain."

She paused, looking at her watch. "Yet it is 0800. Breakfast is always served starting at 0800 aboard my ship." She kept walking toward the man, and he cringed back as she picked up a tray, setting the coffee cup and a plate on it. "Now let's see. Excellent, soft and hard boiled eggs." She picked up an egg, examining it. "Chief Missileman, hand me that juice glass, please."

The Republican rating walked over like the audience member who has been asked by the stage magician to show that the rope they will tie him with is real. She nodded, thanking him absently, then tapped the supposedly cooked egg against the rim of the glass. When it cracked, she moved her fingers, the shell peeling as the liquid dropped into the glass. "If this is soft boiled, I suggest you cook them a bit longer. Let's try the hard boiled." This one also rendered an uncooked egg.

"Now when I was in my first year at Saganami Island, I had a Senior Chief in PT who felt the best breakfast before the five kilometer run was raw eggs. Did you know that, 2nd class cook Sinclair?"

"But, captain! I'm a Fir..." His voice died as she looked up over the rim of the glass she held.

"Excuse me. Are you _correcting_ me, rating?"

"Ah, no, Captain."

"Good." She examined the two yolks floating in the uncooked white. "A spoon please, chief." The magician's assistant handed her a teaspoon. "He always told me to break the yolks before drinking them. Drinking two eggs like this without breaking them, he said, is like eating raw oysters; something I have never wished to try." She broke the yolks, then stirred the mixture so it looked like she was making scrambled eggs. "The next thing to remember, is you might wish to vomit when it hits your tongue. Are you listening 3rd class Sinclair?"

"Yes, ma'am." He almost whispered.

"So what you need to do is treat it like Aquavit or Vodka, and shoot it straight down your throat. Like this." She took the glass, and upended it swallowing, then set the empty glass on the tray. "Ah, perfect." She looked at the serving line. "Now what I see is raw eggs, uncooked breakfast steaks beside bacon that looks like it should be used for firewood." She picked up a piece, the rasher shattering in her grip. "Uncooked hash browns, fruit uncut. And what is this?" She looked into the coffee cup before dipping in a finger. "Tepid water. What I don't see, Cook striker Sinclair, is a decent meal.

"Now, will you accept this punishment? Or shall I have you brigged for a proper court martial?" The man started to look away, but began nodding suddenly as her expression darkened. "And the rest of you who stood by and let him do this and didn't report it?" They nodded like bobble headed dolls.

"Commodore Roclair?"

"Yes, captain?"

"I am sure there are some among your people that know how to cook better than this man has shown. Please, ask them for me to make a proper breakfast for your people." She looked at the other messmen standing behind the serving line in shock. "Who is the junior one among you?"

A girl raised her hand tentatively. "Seaman Second Wagoner, ma'am."

"You will take charge of seaman second Sinclair, Cook striker Wagoner. Your assignment is to make sure he does all of the dishes in every mess aboard ship, and have them all done before lunch, where he will again do the dishes, and again after dinner for the next week. At the end of that time, perhaps he will earn back the rank I have taken from him.

"The rest of you know that it is not wise to cross your captain, and you will learn never to act in this manner again. All of you are sentenced to forfeiture of pay for three days. Number One."

"Yes, skipper?" The Republicans had been so entranced by the performance that they had not noticed her arrival.

"Please get the names of all of these fools so that the non-judicial punishment I have ordered can be logged. Sinclair to be busted to seaman second for the week, forfeiture of pay for the same period. I also think everyone aboard needs a salutatory lesson in manners. For the next three meals, everyone aboard will eat what our good cook seems to think is proper fo r guests aboard my ship. That does not include you, Wagoner, or your people, commodore . I am sure I can find a decent cook on my ship, and if the next one is as bad, I will serve him up with an apple in his mouth."

She looked at her ashen crew. "If there are any complaints about the cuisine, let them know who to blame, and if I hear one whisper that blames our guests, the hammer will really fall." She looked around the faces of the surprised and delighted Havenites. "I owe you all an apology, not only for this man's actions, but for the insult given to you, and to your navy."

"That is unnecessary, captain." Roclair declared. "And if you would, will you join us for breakfast?"

"Thank you, but no. I have to head down to Manticore. Is there anyone else you are having a problem with?"

"None." He turned. "Chartaine!" The man stepped forward. "What you probably did not know, is our good computer technician worked in his father's restaurant in Nouveau Paris for ten years before he joined the Navy, from pot boy and dishwasher to Sous-chef. He makes a superb spinach and mushroom omelet."

"If he would, I would like him to prepare one for me for tomorrow's breakfast?"

"I would be honored, Captain."

"Then you had best get to it, Mr. Chartaine. There are hungry people here. Consider all of them," she motioned to the messmen, "your assistants, and order them about at need. If any seem bright enough to learn, teach them. I will leave you all to your duties." She nodded, and walked out with Hughes at her heels.

"That was... interesting, Captain."

"Captain Corbin could flay you to the bone without raising her voice. I learned a lot from her." She paused outside the head. "Is there anyone behind us, Number One?"

Hughes looked back, confused by the question. "No, skipper. Why?"

"I said the Chief taught me to eat raw eggs. What I didn't say was that I liked them that way. It tends to cause me to..." She clasped her hand over her mouth and bolted into the head.

New problems

After rinsing out her mouth and take a few breath mints to take the taste and smell away, Captain Duvalier walked out of the lift toward her cutter. Lieutenant Huggins was standing with her copilot at attention when she arrived. Huggins was dressed in the Light blue on dark blue dress uniform of the Grayson Navy wearing her billed cap. Her copilot in a pearl gray uniform she recognized as the uniform of the Sidemore Navy.

"Captain, we're ready."

"Good Rebecca. And this is..."

"Warrant 3 Wanda Buford, Captain. Commander of one of my Katanas."

"Captain." The slim woman saluted.

"I am sorry about the treatment of you and your fellow by Quintain, warrant. Hopefully it won't happen again."

"There's always at least one person who has to lord it over subordinates in every group." Buford replied. "No offense taken, Captain."

"Has Yeoman Pankowski started his newest masterpieces yet?"

"Most haven't decided what they want yet, skipper." She replied. "And the ones who have are going to be... interesting."

"How so?"

"Wanda figured we have enough Angels, so she's named hers Succubus." She pronounced it suh-coo-bus, emphasis on the second syllable, rather than Suck-You-Bus with emphasis on the first as a lot of people did.

Rebecca looked at the grinning Warrant. "You'll never get into heaven with that attitude, Wanda."

"As my Poppa used to say, Ma'am, 'If ya'll can't be sure of goin' to heaven, make sure to go to hell in style'."

She resisted the urge to grin back. "I will see what I can do about that. Let's be about it."

The women marched up the ramp. Francis saw the ramp closing, but continued on his way to supply. His replacement supplies hadn't arrived yet. He had enough to make one vat, but by the time they reached Torch that would be sucked dry.

Ensign Kyle, the assistant Purser looked up at his arrival, held a finger to ask for time, and finished what he was doing. "What can I do for you, rating?"

"I came down to check to see if my supplies have arrived, sir."

"Give me the invoice number." Dollaryde rattled it off. Kyle's finger flicked across the keyboard, and he paused. From behind his monitor a sleek head came up, and his treecat yawned in grreting to the young enlisted man. "That's odd. The invoice is marked as received. Can you verify what it is?"

"eight hundred kilos of barley, two hundred winter wheat, one hundred fifty kilos of cane sugar, and one case of brewer's yeast."

Kyle's face looked confused. "It was all marked delivered to the Commissary, except for the yeast, which was sent back as being the wrong kind." He reached across, scratching the cat's ears. "Why did an engineer order Commissary supplies?"

"I run the micro-brewery, sir."

The officer looked up appraising the enlisted man. "Ah so you are Dollaryde? I've tasted your Double Dragon. When can we expect some more?"

"Well that's the point, sir. Something happened to my last batch and it was dumped. I just finished cleaning the third vat, and was ready to start another batch, but I have only enough for one vat."

"Well we can't have that!" Kyle passed over a pad. "Re-order it. I'll keep an eye out and have you informed when it arrives. We're shifting to a parking orbit near the Junction in a couple of days, and it will be hell if it's not aboard by this time tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir." Dollaryde filled out the form. Mr. Danials had always had him fill out the forms so that there was a clear money trail for the brewery in case someone at the Naval Accounting office wondered what was going on. This way, it could be explained as Captain's Discretion. He finished the form, and passed it back. "Thanks a lot, sir."

"Just go back to your good works, Dollaryde." The rating saluted, and left.

Kyle started to input the data. The hatch opened and Lieutenant Cathcart came in. "Was that Dollaryde?"

"Yes, sir."

The lieutenant picked up the pad. "Don't bother with this, Kyle. I'll take care of it."

"But I'm almost finished, sir."

"I'll get the skipper to sign off on it first."

"Yes, sir." Kyle deleted the entry he was making. "We are moving into the new orbit soon, and I thought-"

"Ensign, I've been doing this for several years. We'll get it in time if you stop mucking up my system by making what will amount to double entries."

"Yes, sir."

Blindsided

Captain Duvalier marched up to the entry gate to Mount Royal Palace flanked by Huggins. The guard, a Member of the Queen's Own with a patch for the Gryphon High Plains regiment touched her communications stud, then saluted as they were passed.

"You've been here before." Rebecca told her as they mounted the steps. "So have I for that matter, but that was as a young girl with my father when we had an audience with the Queen's father, King Roger. Besides, it's easy to remember. We just walk side by side to the assigned balk line. Since we'll be at the same one, probably line three, we just salute."

"Line three?"

"The closer you are to the queen, the more important you are. Those of us who have titles are taught to stop a set distance from the throne, and there are other lines set back from that, called the balk lines by us. The higher your social rank, the closer. We're just officers getting a decoration, so we stop futher away than it would be if say I was reporting alone without an award. I'd stop at the second balk line and kneel.

"What would you do if you had to report to the Protector?"

"I have no idea." Huggins replied. "There are only two medals you recieve directly from his hand, and they are as rare as hen's teeth."

The conversation had carried them down the way they had been directed, and the stopped outside the Blue Hall. "Well, here goes nothing." Rebecca commented in a prison whisper. Then announced them to the major domo.

That worthy looked at his pad. "Second balk line, Captain."

"Second? Are you sure?"

"Always, Baroness." The doors opened, showing the massive room beyond. They started off marching forward through the cleared path through the courtiers.

"The second balk line?" Huggins prison whispered as they strode forward. "What do we do there?"

"You're asking me? I've never been past the fourth!" Rebecca hissed back.

"But you know what to do at the third!"

"that's because my father told me!"

Each balk line was about two meters from each other, and Rebecca concentrated on that distance. Three meters from the dias they stopped before the empty throne. Before they could even think to wonder why, a voice called out. "Elizabeth Adrienne Samantha Annette Winton, Queen and Empress." A door in the wall opened, and the Queen, escorted by Michael Mayhew, brother of the Protector of Grayson walked across the floor to mount the dias. As she was announced, everyone but Huggins and the other non Manticoran representatives knelt. Lucky for Huggins, there were example to follow, and she bowed deeply. The queen sat, her treecat Ariel climbing to the back of the throne. "Recover!" The notables stood again.

"Your Majesty, may I present Captain Rebecca Duvalier, 1st Baroness Duvalier, commanding HMS Witch Maiden, and her companion, Lieutenant Rebecca Huggins, Grayson Space Navy, commander of Composite Squadron 1175, assigned to Witch Maiden." The same voice called out.

The Queen stood, then came down the steps toward them. "We have heard of the bravery of you and your crew, captain, and of you LAC commanders, lieutenant. You have done both of our nations proud by your examples." A man came from the side, carrying a tray with several boxes. "Lieutenant, it is with pride and sorrow that I ask you to accept these medals for your fallen comrades." The queen handed the younger woman five boxes, "The order of Gallantry, posthumous. We have also awarded the Meritorious Unit Citation to all members present at Capwell for their sterling service in our names."

Huggins saluted, then took the boxes.

"I suggest you put those in you pocket, Lieutenant. We're not done here." The queen said aloud. A number of people laughed gently at that. "But what do we give to the commander of those brave people? That is for my ally, the Protectorate of Grayson to determine." She motioned to Mayhew who had walked down beside her.

"What can a grateful nation do for those who have by their example led such people?" Mayhew asked in a well trained baritone. "First, there is this." He read the citation, reaching back for another box. "It is a notable occasion because while the Sword and Shield of Grayson has been awarded many times in this war, this is the first ever to be given to a woman." He opened the case, removing the Red and blue ribbon that held a sword upthrust on a shield. He slid it over her bowed head, then clasped her hand.

"But in the battle of Capwell, you risked your own life and those of your crew to stop an enemy dispatch boat from escaping. It showed rare courage and according to my brother, a sense of style that should not go unrewarded. What you will now recieve from my hand at the Proector's command has been awarded only two hundred and ten times in all of our history." He looked at the crowd. "The award was begun by Benjamin the Great, and he ordered then that only Junior officers and enlisted men of the Army and later the Navy could receive it. In all that time, it has been awarded to a living recipient only seventeen times.

"The last award of it to a Grayson was to a Lieutenant commanding a frigate during the last Grayson-Masada war of almost half a century ago for facing off against a destroyer to protect a damaged cruiser and dying in the attempt. The last time it was awarded, it was for the first and only time given to an officer of command rank.

"After the second battle of Yeltsin, when the Captain Harrington stood against the enemy battlecruiser in our defense, the Keys voted to award it to her in addition to her Steadholder's key. However, at her behest, the Protector instead asked them to award it to Jason Alvarez for his sacrifice in defense of our shattered fleet during first Yeltsin.

"Now, again for the first time; a woman joins their ranks". He gestured behind him even as Huggins gasped. "Kneel."

As she dropped, a servant slipped in with a pillow to protect her knee. Mayhew turned around with a sheathed Grayson pattern sword, and drew it with a flourish. He tapped her on the right shoulder, then the left, then the right. "By order of the Protector of Grayson, I name you an Armsman of Benjamin the Great." He sheathed the sword. "Arise, Armsman Huggins."

She stood. He smiled sheathing the sword. "It is customary that to carry live steel, you must be a swordmaster, or steadholder. My brother pointed out to me that while an Armsman of Benjamin the Great must by custom be so armed in dress uniform, that you do not qualify. So he had instructed you to attain Swordmaster rank as quickly as you may." Then with a grin, he handed the blade to Huggins. "Your sword, Armsman." She took it numbly, then shook his proffered hand. The audience applauded.

"Well not to be outdone, I have decided on a similar honor. Rebecca's eyes widened as the servant picked up the pillow, and set it down in front of her! "Kneel, Captain." Rebecca fell to her knee. The queen took a sword offered by an aide. ""For you actions saving the lives of Manticoran civilians in Copperplate, for your halting of the attempted mutiny at Termagant station with minimal casualties, and for your actions in Capwell where you handed the Sollies the most lopsided defeat in history, I award you with the rank of Knight Companion of the order of King Roger." She tapped the woman on both shoulder as Mayhew had done with Huggins. "Arise, Dame Rebecca Duvalier, Captain and Baroness."

Rebecca stood. While the award was the least of the ranks of the Order of King Roger, it still was a singular honor with a small yearly stipend that would continue even if she retired. The audience again applauded, and she reached out to take the Queen's hand.

"And of course your grateful monarch's thanks." Elizabeth commented wryly.

**Blindsided yet again.**

The trip back to the ship was almost a sad dream. After the way the morning had begun, she had quite honestly expected it to be a very bad day. She had wanted to cry herself as at the end of the award ceremony, Huggins had been required to call up the families of her own honored dead to hand them the boxes that were all that remained of their lives.

Two of them Emily O'Neal, and Phillip Seacourt had no remaining family. O'Neal's parents had been yard dogs assigned to HMSS Vulcan with their remaining children. Hers was accepted by a Captain assigned to the new station building where Vulcan once had been. Seacourt had been an orphan. The director of the orphanage had been there to accept it for that nonexistant family.

The cutter settled in, and Rebecca came out followed by the others. Hughes was waiting for her in the cargo bay. "What now, Number One, someone else attacked the Havenites? Or maybe a riot?"

"Now that you mention it, Captain..."

It had taken only minutes for the Exec to fill her in. Then she went to sickbay where nine Havenites and sixteen of her own lay. Doctor Ramsey filled her in, and especially about four of those injured; they were to be sent down to Bassingford for treatment beyond what the ship could offer.

At 1600, she sent for the Bosun, at 1700, for the Master At Arms.

When Christian arrived, he had a pad in hand and a satisfied expression on his face. He found the captain standing, facing away, her hands clenched behind her back. "Reporting as ordered, Captain. I have a list-"

"Shut up, mister." She said. She turned, her face flushed with fury. "I know what you're going to say. You have a list of defaulters from that incident in the pub. Probably a list of charges for them including, what the Bosun has told me, an Article 25 violation. Let me give you a little word to the wise; having someone throw another man into you is not an article 25 violation. What I want to know first is who the hell gave you the authority to being a Field Grade riot stunner aboard my ship."

"As the captain-"

"Spare me the self serving bullshit! On whose authority did you deploy a weapon designed for open field use aboard my ship!"

"On my own, captain. When I noticed that there wasn't one aboard, I ordered one sent up. They worked very well in my last posting-"

"My god man! You were in charge of a shift at a prison for Christ's sake!" She kept her hands clasped because if she had released them, she knew she would have beaten the man into the deck. "There are reasons why you don't deploy them on a ship! First, they can be set for short range, measured I am told in ten meter increments. Also the sonic shock wave propogates more rapidly through metal, meaning your dealing with this 'riot' injured people in the surrounding compartments as well.

"So to deal with what I would call a mere 'disagreement', you deployed a weapon used to shut down a riot in a city block in a ten by twenty-five meter compartment! You might as well have tossed in a couple of boarding grenades instead! That would have reduced the injuries!"

"They worked-"

"You might have used them in Chelsmford by my ship is not, A PRISON!" She roared. She turned to the bulkhead again because even the sight of him was making her more furious. "According to the Bosun, one of our own ratings, Cargo 1st Calen started an argument with one of the peep ratings. That lead to a minor altercation which involved less than seven people, including the three officers who were in the compartment trying to break it up. You proceeded to pump hydrogen into this small blaze and that overreaction led to seventy-five casualties from the effects of the stunner, ranging from nausea and vertigo but including four who have had middle ear damage inflicted severe enough to render them deaf! At least your actions were egalitarian; one Grayson Middie, one Sidemore LAC comander, Calen himself and one Republican ensign."

She turned. "Pack your bags. You are to clear my deck by 2100 hours or by god I will eject you without a suit! Dismissed!"

"But captain-"

"Get the hell off my ship!"


	6. A New Day

**A New Day**

Rebecca opened her eyes, looking at the overhead of her cabin. Irene was curled up on her chest, blissfully asleep. She reached up, hugging the cat to her, hearing her purr as she awakened with her human.

Her first thought was _Thanks, Os. _as she rolled, the cat now laying beside her. She wondered yet again what benificent god had given her such a treasure. He had been her steward (Then a 1st class) aboard HMS _Jasmine_ after her tour aboard HMAMC _Genjii_ all those years ago. For almost two T years she had swanned about protecting home fleet, feeling absolutely useless in the process.

Her temper; never far below the skin, had almost come out then, and she knew that if she fully released it, she would have destroyed whatever career she had in her majesty's service. Her father who shared that ravenous beast, had taught her to control it. Christ she'd learned seven dead languages and the Coup to control it! Yet there were times when that wasn't enough. There were times when her fury found something to focus on, as if she were a werewolf of legend needing to chase and rip human prey to shreds.

She had never learned what her father had used to ground those furies. But for her it was Oscelli. The first time her temper had begun to flare on _Jasmine_, she had found a dark chocolate brownie with ice cream smothered in hot fudge as her dessert at lunch. She had sneered at the attempt, then devoured it; the wolf merely taking a guick bite before savaging the woodsman. But that simple dessert had soothed the savage beast.

It was as if her ship had merely sailed through everything without problems for the rest of the day. There were problems that next morning; there always were. But it was as if the world had begun again. She had returned to being the cool commander rather than the homicidal bitch.

Like today. Rebecca slid her arms away from the purring bundle, and sat up. When Christian had staggered out of her cabin, Os had delivered his magical offering. his How he even recognized when it was about to happen was still a mystery to her, and she really hated to be managed by anyone. Yet time and again Oscelli had guaranteed she would not stomp on her crew, and this feeling made it worthwhile.

She showered, dressed, and walked out of her cabin into her office. She had just brought up her computer when Os appeared with a tray. "Breakfast first, ma'am." He admonished.

"You know I hate people managing me."

"I know that for a fact ma'am."

"I don't know how you put up with me, and I think that is why you get away with it."

"Probably." He set down the tray, lifting the lid over the plate he set in front of her. An absolutely beautiful omelet sat there flanked by four rashers of bacon, a slice of ham, and a mound of hash browns. Rating Chartaine asked me to let him know when you would wake up this morning, and stood by down in their galley to make this for you.

"I'll have to thank him. By the way, any word on how the crew reacted to my punishment caused by Sinclair?"

"Mister Sinclair, it seems, fell down a couple of ladders yesterday, ma'am. The crew took what had happened with good grace beyond that. The Bosun has reported that most of the crew is mainly avoiding the Republican 'guests' at the moment."

Rebecca picked up her fork, then glared at Irene who was crouched to leap on her breakfast. "Os, if you would..."

He lifted a smaller lid, sliding a miniature of her own omelet with a single slice of bacon across, distracting the cat. She nodded her thanks, then sliced into the eggs. It was heaven. "I am hoping you got his recipe."

"Consider it done." He poured coffee for her, then, like a genie, vanished. She set to the meal with a will, and was finally reduced to chasing a few errant hash browns. She rubbed the cat's head, and stood, going out to begin her day.

**Saying Goodbye**

Her first stop was sickbay. Most of the ones injured the previous day had been sent to quarters on light duty for the next couple of days. She walked past the sick berth attendants to stand beside the bed of her youngest injured. Stanhope looked forlorn, eyes begging. "Please, captain, don't put me off." He grabbed her hand. He was talking loudly, as a lot of people who had been suddenly deafened would.

"I have to, Josh." He looked at her blankly. She'd be damned if she was going to shout. The damage had been very bad in his case, since he had been barely three meters from that damn stunner when it went off. The delicate bones in his inner ear had been shocked out of alignment. "You'll be back good as new for your next ship."

"Excuse me, ma'am." She turned to see Midshipwoman Riyal. The girl handed her a message pad. "Since he can't hear us, we've been using this to write notes."

"We?"

"All of us, midshipmen, that is." She looked at him. "We took turns sitting with him through the night."

"Very well done by you all." She input her words, holding it so Stanhope could see. But instead of being cheered up, his eyes filled with tears.

"I don't regen, captain. I'll be sent home."

She pursed her lips, then typed again. "Sit with him for a few minutes longer, Jess." She didn't notice the sudden pleasure on Riyal's face. She turned, looking, then headed for the doctor's office.

Matsuhito Ramsey was a short squat almost balloon like man. He stood as she entered his office. "Stanhope doesn't regen. What are they going to do with him when he gets to Bassingford?"

"We still use Cochlear implants for those cases."

"How soon can he be back on active duty?"

"It depends on how he adjusts, actually." She motioned, and he resumed his seat, leaning back with his hands clasped across his stomach. "We don't have the equipment here to insert one, though we do have the equipment for adjusting them; we have two people, one marine and a Senior Chief aboard who had them inserted after combat injuries."

"How long does it take to heal from the operation?"

"With quick heal, about five days. But he might have to have it adjusted for as long as a month."

"But you can adjust it."

"Most of his problems will be with balance, ma'am. The inner ear controls your sense of balance. If the semicircular canals were damaged, we couldn't deal with that aboard ship. And I'm afraid we can't guarantee that they were not. That bastard Christian might as well have murdered the lad."

"I sent all of the facts of the incident down to the JAG office before he left my deck. Transporting an illegal weapon aboard ship, using said weapon on his own crew! Injuries to seventy five crewmen with four crippled! If he's lucky, all he will get is a demotion. If he isn't he'll see Chelmsford again as an inmate." She almost snarled. "That's what I hope for. Let him feel a stunner!"

"Feeling vindictive, captain? I would define that as cruel and unusual punishment."

She looked at him coolly. "My father always used to blow up at that phrase. He me once that people who use that phrase have a serious lack of imagination considering the 'legal' methods used as late as the 5th century pre diaspora. The old United States during it's final century was hamstrung by people who used that to try to remove the death penalty, no matter how quick and painless it was. While those same people were complaining about prison overcrowding, they were pushing life without parole as the only 'humane' option; not considering that it cost more than the average middle class family made in a year to keep one criminal in prison. Then they even decided that was cruel as well.

"Once Stanhope reaches Bassingford, have them inform me. If the semicircular canals are not badly injured and will accept quick heal, ask them to return him to the ship before we deploy if possible."

"Yes, ma'am."

She walked back out into the sickbay, returning to Stanhope's bed. She took the pad, and gave him that information. He looked up with hope in his eyes. "Thank you, Captain." She squeezed his shoulder, and left.

She stopped in shock at what she saw when she did. About a dozen people, split evenly between Republican and her own crew were heading toward sickbay in work out clothes. They looked like they had been in a brawl, and her fury rose. "Stand fast!" She snapped. They froze, looking at her in surprise. "What the hell did you do? By god if you've been brawling, I'll have your heads! Explain!"

"We weren't fighting, Captain." Ensign Le Clerc, the senior Republican protested. "Your mister Deere," he motioned to a Manticoran Senior chief assigned to the deck department, "was showing me your Axial one yesterday."

"And so you and your associates," she looked at the other five Republicans, all enlisted men from the contingent that was only being transported, "and my no doubt innocent crewmen decided to do what? Reenact the Battle of Manticore?" She asked in a mild voice dripping with vitriol.

"No ma'am. Your senior chief and I share a hobby, as do these others. We like to play null grav polo. Between us we set up a scratch game for today."

She blinked. "Null grav polo?" She knew the sport. A variant of water polo, usually played on space stations, since very few ships still had an area like Axial one, where gravity was virtually nonexistent. Originally used for transporting heavy cargoes, such as missiles, from place to place rapidly, the more modern warships had done away with it because of the structural weaknesses, though for balancing the cargo holds most merchant ships still did. "So you all..." She waved her hands. "were hurt playing a game?"

"Yes, ma'am." Le Clerc grinned. "Actually Mister Deere almost kicked himself in the teeth trying to make a save." The Chief returned the grin to his fellow crewmen, his split lip making him wince.

"All right." She clasped her hands behind her back, her fury suddenly turned to humor. "I think the next time you should at least wear some sort of protective gear. It stops captains from jumping to conclusions."

"Yes, ma'am." Deere said.

"Oh, by the way, ensign. Could you have your commander make a list of sports where you have enough for a competition? I don't want to have to put cameras all over Axial one to televise your play."

"I will do that immediately, Captain."

"Oh, no rush. Go get fixed up first." She watched them pass her with amusement. She walked back to the office, and tapped the annunciator. "Ask the Exec to come down, please." She went to her desk, bringing up her computer. The marine outside the hatch announced the Exec, and she came in. "Diedre, ask around and see what shipboard spectator sports have enough members for a competition. I think I've found a way to make peace between our different crews."

The rest of the day was hectic as the crew prepared to head out of the system. While the deployment didn't officially begin for another ten days, by moving past the hyper limit a light minute or so from Junction she could drill her crew until the other ships of her squadron arrived.

**Disappointment**

At 1600 Dollaryde finished his shift. He went down to supply, but the ingredients still had not arrived. Feeling glum, he went to the pub. Master Quartermaster Chief Sisko looked up as he arrived. "We're almost out of everything, Francis. When is the next batch going to be ready?"

Dollaryde told him what had happened, the destruction of his latest batches, having to scrub the vats out before he could start again, and the lack of ingredients. "I have started at least one batch, but that's going to be at least another two weeks. Sorry."

Sisko shrugged. "Shit happens. Don't sweat it." The young man nodded, and slouched out. Sisko kept at his preparations. While the 'pub' would be running from noon to midnight every day during the deployment, he been running the in system schedule that had it running from 1700 to midnight. While shorter in hours, the in system schedule was more grueling since in system the ship's crew worked what might have been considered a standard work day; 0800 to 1700, with anchor watch rotating through a four day cycle. That meant more thirsty people in a shorter time. Losing Dollaryde's production would put a serious bind in that service too.

"Now there goes a very unhappy man." He looked up as the Bosun came into the compartment. "Made good on the damage yet, chief?" She asked.

He grimaced. Every glass that had been in the bar itself had been shattered by the field stunner, in fact every glass in the small storage compartment nearby had been shattered as well as all the crockery in the small galley. Half of his people were on light duty, and having someone still suffering from vertigo trying to serve drinks was amusing, but down right insane. "I will before we deploy. I sent down a requisition to fabrication for it."

"What's Dollaryde's problem?"

"Someone dumped his last batches of brew and schnapps, including one that still had the mash in it. So we're out of schnapps by 1900, and out of beer before midnight tonight. He's also having trouble getting ingredients. The first load went to our cooks, and the new order hasn't arrived. So we're sucking fumes because he is."

"I'll see what I can do." Sharpe told him. Sisko smiled as she walked out. She did like her beer...

**End Run**

Kyle looked up as the Bosun came into the office. "Hello, Bosun, what can I do for you?" She picked up a pad.

"Do you remember what Dollaryde usually orders for the brewery?"

"I don't remember." Kyle admitted. "Give me a moment." He dived into the past invoices. "That's odd. I know he ordered twice in the last week. But there's no record of the last one." He went back further. "Barley, wheat, and before the ship left Rendova he ordered 300 kilos of peach must as well."

"Must what?"

Kyle laughed. "It's pureed peaches, used in making among other things, schnapps. That he didn't order this time."

"Well I happen to like his schnapps." She looked at the older order, then duplicated it. "Send this through for me."

"Mr. Cathcart will want to run it past the Captain first."

"Oh he will. Mr. Kyle, I know what the skipper is going to say or I wouldn't be filling it out. I would really appreciate you doing this for me. And letting me know when it arrives."

As a Midshipman, Kyle had seen a senior officer who ran athwart with the bosun. Though the man had been a commander and division head on a Superdreadnought, it was a nightmare for the officer, all because he berated the Bosun unfairly and publicly. That bosun, a man in his nineties had with no effort, created what is called a 'white' mutiny.

Mutiny, or course is rebellion against authority. But a white mutiny is the exact opposite; obedience to the point of absurdity. The kind of emotionless reaction you would expect from ill programmed robots, with as much volition. Every order obeyed exactly as stated, even if the wording were inexact, or failing to act because an order is not given, with consequences better imagined than endured. When volition is removed, every failure falls not on the crewmen but their officers. After all, an officer can't complain if you did what you were told, or didn't do something you were not told to do.

Within a week the man had been reduced to a screaming maniac, and within three had almost been relieved before the captain had told him to belt up and apologize.

Kyle did as he was told.

**Drills, new assignments, and laying down the law**

"Deploy." Rebecca Huggins ordered. The sleek LACs slid backwards from their docking bays, rolling to power away from the ship. The Shrikes moved out first, followed by the Ferrets and Katanas. 10 million kilometers behind _Witch Maiden_ and the convoy, the pirate was closing with almost 300Gs of overtake. The LAC crewmen could hear the Exec trolling them in, pretending to be a dithering fool.

"Close to missile range." The squadron commander ordered.

The LACs brought up their wedges. Even at 500Gs they were invisible on even Manticoran sensors. _Witch Maide_n was running away from the convoy, drawing the pirate after them as she did.

"Begin your target plots." The commander ordered.

"Missile inbound!" _Witch Maiden_ reported.

"Radar pulse from Shrike three!" command reported. At almost 300 million kilometers per second, the pulse went out. It was too far for LAC missiles, and pods rolled from Witch Maiden. Even as the pirate was recording the pulse, sixty missiles launched at him with full powered wedges at almost a thousand KPS.

The pirate rolled, spinning to race toward the hyper limit. Almost two dozen missiles shot out, aimed at the last of the light CLACs which was his closest target. The people watched as the missiles ripped out in both directions. The pirate blew up, but her revenge was sweet; seven of the twenty-one missiles ripped into the lightly skinned vessel. It exploded, vanishing from the plot.

The crews of the LACs watched as the simulation ended, _Witch Maiden_ blithely sailing alone through space. "All hands to debriefing."

Huggins leaned into the podium as her crews entered their briefing room. Her crews came in. Everyone ignored Quintain as he took his seat. The squadron commander brought up the point where Quintain's _Legate_ had brought up active rather than passive sensors. "Tell me, lieutenant, when did I order active tracking of the target?" She asked.

"You ordered us to plot the target-"

"I did." She stated coolly. "Allow me to rephrase; did I order active scans?"

He scowled, shaking his head. "They fired into _Witch Maiden_."

She brought up the missile launch, with a line for it's course, which was offset so that it would run down the ship's course a clear 20,000 kilometers away. "It was a warning shot, lieutenant."

"But it was close enough for a laser head."

"We have the best passive systems in space at the moment. Our LACs can track an enemy at over forty million kilometers and by using us as living recon drones, _Witch Maiden_ can target them for missiles out to their maximum range. Yet you needed active scans for a missile that would have clearly missed us by 15,000 kilometers?" She turned, looking at the men and women before her. "We could have killed the missile well clear of us or _Witch Maiden_ on command using passive sensors alone; a command that was not given. To bring up active scans suggests that you panicked."

"With all due respect-"

"Attention on deck!" Everyone snapped to attention as Captain Duvalier marched down between their comfortable chairs. She walked up to the podium, the squadron commander standing aside as she took the stage.

"As you were." She ordered, adjusting the mike. "I am not at all happy with this drill people. Losing a CLAC would cost us not only valuable lives, but fifty LACs as well. Ships we are going to need later. Ms Hughes was doing exactly what she should have done; trying to draw the pirate away from the others so you could crush him. If you had reached your missile range of the enemy he would have been forced to fire on us or you. The trailing CLAC would have been 14 million kilometers from the pirate, out of range. We have twice the point defense of the CLACs, and with you acting as an additional shield, we were well covered."

"But the missile was close enough for a laser warhead to hit the ship, ma'am."

"Of course it was. But pirates don't get paid for destroyed ships, only for captured ones. And while he had been demanding that we heave to, he wasn't going to destroy her without firing a warning shot." The captain said.

"But how would we know-"

"Mister Quintain, your actions are just what I would expect from someone who has no combat experience, or experience dealing with pirates. Ms Hughes did exactly what I would have done in her situation. Ms Huggins gave the orders I had anticipated she would. The only one who did not live up to my expectations, was you." She looked at him mildly.

"The drill was unfair, captain."

"Anyone who tells you life is fair is trying to sell you something. Before you dig yourself a deeper hole, I will tell you I created this scenario and administered it. That was one of three warning shots programmed into it, the last to have a standoff of only 5,000 kilometers. He was coming in dumb, that is given. But the model of the pirate's hull had sufficient small craft to take _Witch Maiden_, yet still had enough overtake to run down and capture both of our CLACs if they were actually merchantmen. I know this because a ship of that design made the same attempt in Silesia fifteen years ago when HMAMC _Faery Lights_ drew him off a small convoy and captured him with just her LACs. Neither Hughes or Huggins knew any of it's parameters, so they as I said, reacted properly. You did not. That is what separates a combat veteran from an untried person.

"Go on with your debrief, Lieutenant Huggins." She strode down the aisle, the pilots snapping back to their feet. It had been a good day today, while there were still rough spots in her crew, the Exec and Bosun were working on polishing them smooth. Chief Campbell who had been Christian's assistant Master at Arms was still feeling his way, but at least he hadn't been a prison guard in his last posting.

"Captain?" She looked up as Midshipwoman Kramer snapped to a quivering attention. "You asked to see me?"

"Yes, Stace. Walk with me." The girl fell in beside her as the captain strolled along. "I'm facing a problem, and you might solve it for me. In your piloting standing, you come in behind Krueger, but you're from Sidemore and our one LAC without a commander is manned by your countrymen. Warrant Kelly won't be back aboard because it will take too long to regen the damage to his ear canals. In addition to your other duties, I want you to temporarily assume command of that Ferret for me."

"But... Ma'am you're supposed to be an ensign and go through flight school for that!"

"I know that, Stace. But you have one other qualification Chin does not."

"I do?"

"Your thesis in Basic Tactics. You came down pretty hard on CLAC captains on both sides during the war in it." The girl blushed prettily, and Rebecca felt she wanted to be there if young Kramer met Rating Chartaine. They could have a blush-off if anyone around knew about that tendency and how to trigger it. "You criticized the Commander of the Republic task force at the Raid on Zanzibar specifically."

"Well Captain, he did come in dumb. He launched his LACs for the raid, but instead of retreating with the CLACs outside the hyper limit, he followed them in. But there were more than enough of our own LACs to deal with the threat of the five hundred odd LACs deployed by the Republicans. The Manticoran Alliance representative Admiral Padgorny suggested a plan that used just the LACs to confront the greater threat.

"The Task Force commander's stupidity added to the High Ridge Government's treatment of our allies led to Admiral al Bakr overriding the on site Manticoran officer and using the system defense pods that had been planted in the outer asteroid belt to kill one CLAC and damage the second. A clear win, but the enemy used what they learned in that attack to come back at Second Zanzibar and blow the system picket and infrastructure to plasma."

"The benefit of hindsight, Middie."

"Yes and no, captain."

"Explain."

"My uncle Jack was one of the members of the design bureau that came up with our idea of what a CLAC should be like. He got me interested in Old Earth Naval history, and when I showed interest, got my place at Saganami Island for me. He pointed at Earth's Second World War, at least at the start.

"Aircraft carriers were new then, as CLACs are with us now, and too many of the original commanders of those ships then and now were not pilots themselves; they were cruiser and battleship officers. They thought of carriers as something that runs with the wall of battle instead of operating separate with only minimal escorts. He pointed out that only three carriers were sunk by surface action, and as he explained to me, one was caused by negligence of her captain, the other two were forced into their engagement.

"The first, the British HMS _Glorious_ was running with only two destroyers when two Nazi German battlecruisers found them. But her captain, while a pilot, had ignored his air group commander, and not deployed scouting aircraft or staging ready aircraft on deck, allowing the Germans to approach within their gun range. Once in range both she and her escorts were easily sunk.

"The other two were part of a six light carrier task group code named Taffy 3 at the Battle off Samar in the Philippine Islands. An Imperial Japanese fleet led by four battleships were able to come into range undetected. The light carriers ran while their escorting destroyers and destroyer escorts charged the battle line. But the commander of the task group, Clifton Sprague called in all of the deployed aircraft from his own unit, and two other light carrier task groups nearby, and so confused the issue that the Japanese withdrew after sinking two of the small carriers and some of the escorts. In fact in after action reports, the Japanese Admiral believed he had confronted fleet carriers with light cruiser escorts."

"And what would you have done different?"

"I was just pointing out that of all the combatants in that war, the first to use carriers as rapid strike units with light escort was the United States. Their main fleet units, the battleships, had been seriously damaged or sunk at the battle of Pearl Harbor. To carry the fight to the enemy they had to create tactics using only carriers and light escorts. Every other carrier in that war, on either side, were sunk by either submarines or aircraft.

"I used the Zanzibar raid for a reason; if he had kept his CLACs safe, used just the LACs for the scouting element, he would not have lost either of the CLACs or all of his LACs."

"But he wouldn't have gotten all the information he did, either."

"That's a given." Stacey was talking as if they were just fellow cadets back on Saganami Island, not as captain to very junior officer. "But you can't expect both commanders to do something stupid every time, can you?"

Rebecca grinned at the deck, hoping the girl didn't notice. "No, you can't. So, will you accept this additional duty?"

"If you think I can handle it, yes, ma'am."

"Oh, I didn't say I thought you could handle it, middie. I just wanted an Sidemoran in charge of a Sidemore LAC." She stopped, the girl turning to face her. "You still have all of your other rotations to do. But when Lieutenant Huggins had a drill or instruction, you are to report to prifly."

"Yes, Ma'am!" Her salute was almost razor sharp.

"Dismissed, Stace."

Rebecca entered the bridge, walking toward her command chair. Hughes nodded to her as she stood from the command chair. "I just assigned Midshipman Kramer to temporary command of Kelly's Ferret." She shook her head, smiling fondly. "God, Diedre, were we ever that young?"

"Unless your name is the Goddess Athena, yes, skipper, we were that young once upon a time. The pinnace the Bosun sent to Sphinx as we passed the planet is inbound. ETA seven minutes."

"Time for me to put my scowl on then." Rebecca scowled at the Exec in mock anger, and Hughes mimed terror.

"Please, forgive me captain!" She wailed in badly overacted fear.

"This time." Rebecca warned. "But the next time?" She mimed cutting a throat, "no mercy, you slacker." The bridge crew laughed at the play. "Am I paying you to watch us?" She asked rhetorically. "I'll be down in my office, then in Cargo 2. Try not to run into anything while I'm away."

"Yes, skipper."

Rebecca stopped in her cabin to pick up a chip folder, rubbed Irene's ears, then walked back out. She arrived as the sirens wailed as Cargo 2 opened to space. She waited patiently until the sirens again reported that the compartment had been aired back up, then walked out into it. The pinnace ramp dropped, and the flight crew began to unload the miniscule cargo.

Cathcart was there, having been informed that it was arriving. He scowled at the requisition form, then thrust it back at the rating. "Send it back."

"Problems, Mr. Cathcart?"

"Yes, captain. Someone did an end run around me and ordered this... filth. I'm just refusing to sign for it."

She held out her hand, and the rating passed the pad to her. She read it, then signed. "Contact Mr. Dollaryde, and tell him his stores have arrived. Mister Cathcart, a word please." She turned, striding toward an area where there would be no one listening in.

"Ma'am we can't have junior enlisted men ordering supplies for an illicit brewery! It's against regulations!"

Rebecca turned, hands clasped behind her back. "Let us set the record straight, lieutenant. First, aboard this ship, I determine what is and is not illicit. Since the term implies both illegal and hidden, it surprises me to know that every senior officer aboard this ship knows about this brewery, where it is, and it operates with the express permission of the one officer aboard who can give him permission. That would be me. That is why the Bosun, at my behest, did the 'end run' you accused a junior petty officer of trying.

"Second, if you are going to invoke my name, expect me to pay attention. You tried by means both fair and foul to either misdirect or deny Mr. Dollaryde his ingredients. That ends now."

"But Captain! It's against-" He shut his mouth, suddenly thinking of exactly how she'd take that knee jerk statement.

Rebecca gave him a smile that a tiger would have worried about. "While you were wise enough not to say it, let me finish; 'against God's will'." The smile she gave him now would have had that same tiger deciding to become a vegetarian. "Were you about to violate Article 111? You are not allowed, under both the Constitution and Naval Regulations to use your own religious beliefs to interfere with the actions of any under your command." She crossed her arms. "Just for the record, Mr. Cathcart, our crew has members of seventy-five religions aboard, from my own Second Reformation Catholic with about 300 members, to about five Satanists. Since Article 111 precludes my intervention, if they decided to have a Black Sabbath aboard my ship, I would have only three restrictions:

"They would not be allowed to light a bonfire on my deck. They would not be allowed any form of live sacrifice. And last, if they wished to perform it in the nude, they would have to let the Bosun know so the cargo bay they used would not be flooded by voyeurs." She stepped forward, eyeball to eyeball at thirty centimeters distance. "So if we have this conversation again, you won't like it at all. Is that quite clear, lieutenant?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She slapped the chip folder into his hand. "Read and obey these directions. Dismissed."


	7. Fateful Meeting

**Fateful meeting**

Dollaryde almost leaped and cheered when he was called to the cargo hold. His stores had finally arrived! He grabbed a pallet jack, picked it up, and took it via the lift to his storeroom. Then he reported for duty. Time enough to start the other batches after his shift. He went through Fusion 2 noting the discrepancies, let the chief of the watch know, and then logged them, and made the instructed changes. Unlike fusion 1 nestled against the hull forward, this one needed to be treated with care. It had all the fail safes of any fusion plant in space, but merchantmen didn't usually have to worry about a fusion plant they couldn't jettison.

"And this is fusion two's control room." He heard ensign Reese say. "And if you have tried the beer in the pub, you might want to meet this man. Rating Dollaryde?" He turned to the ensign and the young man with him. "Engineering 2nd Francis Dollaryde, this is our new middie, Mr. Krueger."

"Sir." Dollaryde snapped to attention.

"Dollaryde will walk you through the plant. Come and find me after he had done so." Reese walked back out of the compartment.

Dollaryde started to turn back to his work, but a soft voice stopped him. "A moment, Mr. Dollaryde." He turned back. "Yes sir?"

The midshipman walked over, then around him. "So you are our famous brewmeister."

"I wouldn't say famous, sir."

"But you are a credit to your craft, rating. I have heard nothing but praise of your beer. And of your choice in women."

"Well, the twins are special people, sir."

"No doubt. Which begs the question." Krueger stopped in front of him. "What makes you special enough for them to marry you?"

"Just lucky, I guess, sir."

"Very lucky." Krueger agreed. "But so far, except for those two things, you have failed to impress me."

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"Don't worry, Herr Dollaryde, by the time this cruise is over, you will impress me or suffer. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes sir." Dollaryde wasn't sure where this was going, and felt he might not like the answer.

"So from this point until you do impress me, I am going to give you a nickname. I am going to call you my little Schwulie." He gave the rating a grin. "Now, show me how this plant operates."

**Hit the Deck Running**

Midshipwoman Kramer walked into prifly, and knocked on the wooden door of the Squadron commander's office. It was a tradition in the navy that every senior Marine officer had no sentry and a wooden door rather than a metal hatch. After all, unless you carried a club to beat on it, they might never hear you knock. It was a tradition the COLAC or senior flight officers had adopted. She knocked softly. No reply. She hit the door harder.

"Come." She opened the door, and walked into the compartment. The squadron commander's compartment was small; there was room for the desk and two chairs and nothing else. Huggins looked up from her terminal, and silently pointed at the closer chair. Stacey walked over, and sat as Huggins went back to her work.

"I've just been reading your file, middie." Huggins said, shutting the terminal down to face the girl. "Number 72 in your flight standing at Saganami Island, number two of our snotties. And the captain asked me to read your thesis. Interesting ideas. Maybe you would be a good LAC commander in time. We just have to find out sooner than you might have expected." She looked at Kramer as if expecting a reply, though the statement sounded rhetorical.

Huggins watched her for several seconds, then stood. "Come with me." Kramer followed as they went through Prifly, past the briefing room, and into the long passageway that ran between the docking bays to either side. The first four were for the Shrikes, with the names chosen by their commanders above the hatches that led into them; HMLAC _Panther_, HMLAC _Sabretooth_, HMSLAC _Legate_, and RSNLAC _Fubuki_. Next were the Ferrets; HMLAC _Wolverine_,

HMLAC Weasel, RSNLAC _Otter_, and finally, one marked merely RSNLAC #4. Beyond were the Katanas, HMLAC _Gabriel_, HMLAC _Michael_, HMLAC _Azrael_ and RSNLAC _Succubus_.

"This will be your bird until further notice." Huggins motioned to the unnamed hatch.

"Why doesn't mine have a name, ma'am?"

"The LAC commander names his bird. You can choose a call sign, but until she is officially yours, you don't get to paint her name on the ship." She motioned Kramer down to another hatch, opening it to walk into the bay itself. Ahead of her, the sleek bulbous nose of a Katana rose before them. On that nose was what looked like an ash blond woman with devil's horns in a bikini with ginormous breasts, kneeling in a pool of blood. One bloodstained hand rested on her thigh, the other was at her mouth, fingers coated with blood being licked by her tongue as she looked forward coquettishly. Beneath it was the phrase; "You look good enough to eat'.

"If you're good enough to maintain commander of Ferret four, you'll get something like that done for you by our resident artist, Yeoman Pankowski. Until then all you have is F4." Huggins led her back out, and to that hatch. As she had been told, there was merely a letter and number in the place of the artwork. Huggins kept walking.

"You should have been sent to the Harmon LAC officer's training base first, but we'll have to make do." She looked at the girl. "The base was started in 1913 post Diaspora and built on Jersey Point on Saganami Island. Named for Jacquelyn Harmon who was LAC Squadron commander of the twelve Apostles as they were called, attached to HMAMC _Wayfarer_, then Group Commander of CLAC HMS _Minotaur's_ strike group the very first CLAC. She created the syllabus for training for that Group, and while she died at Second Hancock in their very first action, her work proved her mettle.

"As yours will be proven here."

It was less than fifty meters from the entry hatch to the control room of the bird. "Every station matches those you will see on the bridge of the _Witch_, but smaller." She pointed at the other four stations on the bridge. "Helm, Weapons, Electronic Counter Measures, communications. The other five station are forward and aft of here; Impeller one we passed, impeller two is the farthest aft, with Engineering forward of that with two stations, and stealth/ counter missile, just aft of us. When operating in combat, all are manned, though on patrol only four, Impeller one, stealth/ counter missile the helm, and engineering are.

"If we were part of a Wing assigned to a standard CLAC, there might be two officers assigned; captain and exec, usually the chief engineer, though sometime the tactical officer. CLACs have a lower priority than the fleet, and our priority is even lower, we usually have one officer per bird, and that is usually an ensign or JG." She looked at the younger woman. "LACs are officer intensive, as you can see. An ensign on this ship," she waved to encompass the ship they were being carried by, "is a junior flunky, not a command officer, and in charge of maybe thirty people, not in charge and command of ten total. With me so far?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Any questions?"

Kramer considered the question. "Too many to ask easily, ma'am."

Huggins smiled gently. "You'll do. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be, ma'am."

Huggins walked to the command chair, thumbing the com button. "Crew of Ferret 4, man your ship for drills." She lifted her hand. "Now impress me."

**Laws** **Of the Land**

Cathcart stormed into his office, almost throwing the chip folder on his desk. The nerve of her, denying God's Will! He had known over 97 percent of the fleet had different religious rules, and he had dealt with it as a junior officer by coming down on his subordinates for the things they did that violated it, and merely putting up with his seniors. He had thought that being a division commander aboard his own ship would allow him more control, but it seemed it was not to be.

He threw himself into his chair, glaring at the offending chip folder, then slipped the chip out into a pad, and brought it up. ADDENDA TO FLEET REGULATIONS FOR MERCHANT CRUISERS. He flipped through it, his ire growing. Crewmen allowed civilian clothes (Section 4, 'Ship Leave'). Gambling was allowed, but limited by time since those in a game might have to go on watch, or get some sleep. Violations of the eased rules were simply that the game was shut down, and perhaps the players receiving a reprimand or non-judicial punishment!

Worst yet, brewing and distilling at the captain's discretion assuming the ones producing the beverages passed medical checks on the product and were not being reprimanded for their usual work. An actual pub being opened, and while in the pub there was no rank, meaning a rating could consort with an officer with impunity!

In all fifteen regulations had been altered and in the case of the bootlegging thrown out the airlock. He slammed down the pad, and set his chin on his fists. He'd find a way to stop this man from violating god's will. Somehow.

**A Promised Story**

Rebecca finished the last document, nibbling on the fruit and vegetable plate Os had delivered. Irene had stolen an apricot half, and was licking it in delight as she watched. "You do know you're a carnivore, you little monster." The cat didn't reply, just bit into the pulp and ripped off a mouthful as she purred. "All right, I give up."

"You have an appointment, ma'am." Oscelli came in, whisking away the devastated plate, setting down a paper copy of a book. Rebecca sighed, hefting it.

She left her cabin, walking down the passageway to Jinhua's compartment. She touched the annunciator, and Jinhua answered, curious. "I promised Fenghua a story." She said, waving the book.

"Ah." For some reason, it caused Jinhua to smile."By all means, captain." She motioned toward the sleeping compartment.

Rebecca walked to the hatch, tapping it before entering. The girl sat in her bed, pillow firmly clutched between her arms. Rebecca considered the idea that maybe she should order a teddy bear to be delivered, shelving it in the same instant. "I promised to read to you."

"I wondered when you might." The girl sniffed as if holding back tears.

She walked in, sitting in the chair beside the bed. The book smelled of printer's ink, and she inhaled appreciatively as she opened it. "It's the Wizard of Oz, first of fourteen volumes. By the end of the cruise, I hope you will have had all of them read to you."

"Would that it were so." The girl whispered.

Rebecca's heart almost burst at the pain suggested by that comment. She opened it to the first page. She took a deep breath, then began. "_Chapter I, The Cyclone. _

"_Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife. Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no garret at all, and no cellar— except a small hole dug in the ground, called a cyclone __cellar, where the family could go in case one of those great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to crush any building in its path. It was reached by a trap door in the middle of the floor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark hole."_

The girl settled back as a child listening to a story will; turning on her side to watch the reader intently. Rebecca smiled inwardly as she went on, describing the gray world that would miraculously gain color when she was transported to Oz.

She remembered the first time she had heard this story, her mother still in uniform before returning to Silesia, sitting looking at the four year old girl before her as she read those same words. Her older brother, all of ten complaining because he was 'too old for this crap' still leaning against the foot of the bed as that soft voice drew a picture of wonder in their young minds.

It was the last good memory she had of her mother. She had left the next day, promising to introduce her daughter to Alice in Wonderland when she returned. Nine months later, the Manticore Cross was delivered instead. While in action in Schiller, Helena Duvalier had acted without thought of her own life, dashing in to eject a failing fusion bottle before it destroyed HMS _Adamantine_. Her actions saved the half the the crew still alive, though she had died in the act. The light cruiser had beaten her Silesian heavy cruiser foe, but had been scuttled rather than attempting repairs three weeks later.

She checked the young face before her. After a few pages Fenghua's eyes began that slow occasional blink of a young mind trying to stay awake to reach the last page; an attempt that always failed.

On her own first tour in Silesia, she had brought the book Alice in Wonderland. When her own ship had passed through Schiller, she had read it aloud and was found a few hours later by her fellow snottie Cathy Munroe her voice trembling as sher read, tears running down her face. That night as she cried herself to sleep, she had felt the touch of a ghostly hand, and a voice apologizing for not reading it to her instead.

She wondered if she would ever marry, if one day it would be her sitting, reading to a child of her own, returning the favor and creating anew that wonder. But considering that the people who had read to her, mother, Tommy, and father, all now dead...

"_While Dorothy was looking earnestly into the __queer, painted face of the Scarecrow, she was surprised to see one of the eyes slowly wink at her. She thought she must have been mistaken at first, for none of the scarecrows in Kansas ever wink; but presently the figure nodded its head to her in a friendly way. Then she climbed down from the fence and walked up to it, while Toto ran around the pole and barked."_ Rebecca looked up.

Fenghua was asleep, her face angelic. Rebecca placed the bookmark back at the start of the chapter, setting it on the nightstand. Then shut off the lights as she left the compartment. Jinhua looked up from the file on her lap. "Brandy, Captain?"

"Please." Jinhua picked up the decanter and snifter, pouring, then handed the glass to the captain, motioning to the comfortable chair across from her. Rebecca warmed the snifter between her hands, sniffing the aroma of the beverage. "My question is why you haven't read to your daughter in a long time."

Jinhua chuckled. "When my daughter finds someone willing to read to her, she gets... creative with the truth." She sipped. "The last time I read to her before our last cruise was the day before my ship left for Gregor. Once we returned to Manticore I have read to her at least every other day until we came aboard. By my estimate, she has seven of your officers and Mr. Oscelli on her list to read to her between here and Torch, where she will remain during our mission." She chuckled again. "No doubt by the time we return to Manticore, she will add Queen Berry to that list if she has the chance; She's already has my own Bureau Chief on the list of those who have read to her before."

"Why that little... sneak." Rebecca shook her head. Then she raised the snifter. "Definitely your daughter."

"Isn't she just?" Jinhua raised her own.

**Once more Into the Breach**

"I died." _again_ Stacey said.

Her helmsman Chief Nancy Cartier glanced over her shoulder. "We died." She corrected.

"Sorry, chief, you're right. But what did I do wrong this time?"

"Not checking your clearance." Huggins replied from the folding jumpseat beside the tactical station. "You don't have to be a helmsman like the chief, but you do have to pay attention to your wedge. Main screen." The tactical officer, 2nd class Gallo touched the key, showing _Witch Maiden_ from the side as the Ferret backed from her docking bay. Above and below were the intense warping of space of her impeller wedge. The Ferret climbed as instructed, then suddenly died.

"An LAC has a wedge twice that of a pinnace. Ten kilometers compared to only five. But _Witch Maiden's_ wedge is as large as a superdreadnought, 300 kilometers. You ordered a course that made your wedge hit her wedge, and died." Huggins looked at her mildly. "Most of those sent to Harmon Base have between six and eighteen months as a Pinnace pilot, and training for that includes launching while your mother ship is under impeller. That's something they didn't teach you beyond sims at Saganami Island. You tried to climb over her while under impeller, and your wedge is a lot weaker than hers. When they impinged, your nodes blew, killing your LAC. In fact _Witch Maiden_ might not have even noticed it."

"But the helm should know better!"

Huggins nodded. "But LACs operate in the fringe between a pinnace and a full up starship, using speed and maneuverability to survive. To do so, the helm must be willing to obey orders that sometimes seem insane. If you had set that course and cut the wedge, _Witch Maiden _would have passed three kilometers away, and both would have been safe.

"You're also hobbling your crew. You're giving orders that don't need to be said, and not giving orders that must be. I know you're supposed to be this larger than life perfect person as the officer in command. But they," she motioned toward the quiet crewmen watching their stations, "know you put your pants on one leg at a time. They know you will make mistakes, just as they do. That's why until you can get out of the docking bay and into action, they'll do just what you tell them to do."

Stacey wanted to just say to hell with it. But the comments burned. How can you give too many orders and not enough at the same time?

"Want to take a break? You're supposed to do a shift at Tactical in two hours."

"I want to get out of the goddamned bay before I quit." Stacey gritted out. "If that's all right."

Huggins looked at her for a long moment. "Once more then. Chief, reset to zero." The screen changed to the docking bay. "Your bird."

In civilian hands, the computer system of the modern LACs would have been one hell of a video game. It would jostle the crew when missiles were fired, create the hum of a wedge coming up, the whine as the ship accelerated, the thump of counter missiles being fired, and every tone of any system that was used in operation. Creating a perfect imitation of reality, all without the ship even moving.

Stacey closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Helm, take us out full thrusters. Maintain thrusters until we're out of the wedge."

"Full thrusters aye." The docking bay receded as five Gs hit them. The grav plates would limit the 'felt' Gs to one in ten, so they were pushing away from the ship at fifty Gs, half a kilometer per second. She could see the hull, and above and below, the stressed space of Witch Maiden's wedge.

"Rotate to heading 180 relative to the _Witch_."

"180 relative aye." The forward view now slid down the side of the ship, then toward the stern. On her monitor, she could see they were now facing aft of the _Witch_.

"Take us out the kilt, chief. Maintain separation from her wedge."

The chief pushed the throttle forward, and again five Gs hit them as the LAC continued drifting away from the ship at the five kilometers per second they had attained from the initial thrust and the new vector shoved her toward the stern. Then they were out of the wedge in open space.

She waited ten seconds, then said. "Bring up the wedge,"

"Wedge active, now." The LAC was still there, running at the same speed Four of the times she had tried that they'd died.

"Activate stealth, then increase to 500Gs, port helm to 090, level plane."

"Stealth activated."

"Wedge nominal, coming to 090 aye." With the wedge up, they didn't feel anything as it snapped around onto the new course.

"Very good. Think you can put her away?"

Stacey nodded at the question. The screen changed. The LAC was running alongside. "_Witch_ maintaining 2KPS acceleration." Helm reported

"Take us in at ten KPS level plane. Drop the wedge outside her perimeter."

"Aye aye." The LAC closed. As they reached 310 kilometers from the ship, their own wedge dropped and they slid forward between the bands. Ahead of them the docking bay stood open and inviting.

"Range?"

"twenty kilometers."

"Full aft." The thrusters slammed them back in their seats as the ship decelerated.

"Ten kilometers, eight, seven, speed now 2.5 KPS. Docking tractor coming up."

"Cut all thrust."

"Cut now." The gravs they had felt died, and the LAC slid into her docking bay like a skater on ice. There was a thunk forward, then all motion died.

"Very good." Huggins made a note. "Chief, when she comes back to continue, use full automatic systems."

"Wait!" She turned back to the girl who was looking at her in shock. "We've been running these simulations with the automatics disconnected?" Huggins nodded. "You mean I killed us eleven times-"

"Fifteen." Chief Cartier broke in.

"Thank you chief, fifteen times because I wasn't using the computer assist?"

"Yes."

"Why?" The question was almost a scream.

"What do you do if the main computer is fried in combat and you have to get the bird home? You use your experience and your gut and take her home. Maybe it's bad enough that you can't land, so you abandon close enough for a rescue cutter to pick you up. But if it's not that bad, you just do it by hand. Maybe your wrong. You hit the mothership's wedge and get fried. It happens. That's why damaged birds go last.

"So we do the sims with the automatics limited until you can get in and out without dying." Huggins smiled at the outrage that the girl was still projecting. "We all went through it at Harmon Base. I'm just cramming a four month training system into a week. You graduated from the third week in just under two days. The last commander to graduate from that section usually buys her crew a beer."

"If we had any." Stacey grumped. Morale had plummeted when Dollaryde's beer ran out.

"The skipper took care of that."

The crew unbuckled their restraints and went down the ramp and back into the ship.

"Thought of a call sign to use until the decision is made?" Huggins asked.

"I was thinking of Shrew."

"Shrew? Like Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew?"

"No. There's an animal family on Old Earth that are the smallest known mammals anywhere. The largest is only about ten grams and 4 centimeters long from nose to tail, and the smallest is less than three centimeters, and weighs less than two grams. They need to eat at least their weight a day merely to survive, and some of them can inject venom that will kill mice between five and fifteen times their size. I mentioned the mouse because single shrews are known to attack and kill them. People think of Earth sharks or wolverines as vicious, but gram for gram there is no solitary predator more aggressive and tenacious in the universe than a hungry shrew."

After dropping off the pad in her office, Huggins led the crew of F4 to the pub just forward of Prifly. It was the mess deck for the flight crews, though after lunch it converted to a pub with anyone allowed access. At the door a sign was hung that was taken down when the pub was closed. WITCH'S BREW IS OPEN with a smaller sign; NO RANKS IN THE PUB.

There weren't that many in at the moment, people coming off the forenoon watch who would go back on at Mid-watch getting a small drink to settle their lunches. Dollaryde was at the upright piano playing something idly with the girls scrunched onto the bench to sit on either side of him.

"A round for my crew, chief-" Stacey flinched as a number of people protested.

"No ranks in the pub!" "Shocking!" "Hang her up by her thumbs!"

Siskp leaned forward. "Even I don't have a rank here." He admonished. "The first time it happens, you'll get that." He waved at the people who had already turned back to their drinks. "But I keep score, and if it happens again, you buy a round for the house. That's the rules." He buffed the glass he held.

"Then what do I call you?" Stacey asked plaintively.

"You can call me barkeep, or you can use my nickname. Boozer."

"Boozer?"

"I am one of the only teetotalers aboard. Had a problem with it when I was your age, and found out one drink was too many. Who else do you put in charge of a bar? What'll it be?"

"I wish Dollaryde's beer was still in stock."

"We have another week at least. But the skipper found out what the problem was, and took care of that. Then she sent her steward back to Sphinx, and on to Gryphon in a yacht rental. Just this morning he got back aboard her own yacht with about twenty kegs. So we have Listenberger Lager, Reichenbach Dark and Sligo Bitter from Manticore, Crown's Own both dark and light from Gryphon, Old Tillman ale and Jacoby's Pilsner from Sphinx, and for imports we have Lanzhou Dark from Jasper in Manticoran Silesia, and Kelsenbrau from Dresden in the Quadrant. Nothing stronger served before 1700."

"Then let them have what they want." She waved at her people. "That goes for you too..." She looked at Huggins. "What do I call you in here?"

Sisko laughed. "Most of us call her LD."

"Damn it Boozer!"

"What's that stand for?" Stacey asked.

"Never mind." Huggins snapped. "Give me a Kelsenbrau." The others ordered, Stacey getting an Old Tillman as the others headed for some tables.

She picked up her beer, and Sisko tapped her arm. "It stands for Lady Death, what the Media was calling her after First Manticore. But if you say that out loud, she'll probably kill me."

"Thanks...Boozer. Send a round to Dallaryde and the twins. Tell him I asked for a song." She grinned as she joined the others at the tables. A few moments later, Dollaryde played a riff, then began to sing in a light baritone.

"Roland was a warrior

From the Land of the Midnight Sun

With a Thompson Gun for hire

Fighting to be done

The deal was made in Denmark

On a dark and stormy day

So he set out for Biafra

To join the bloody fray."

"I've never heard that before." Huggins commented.

"We love ancient music from Old Earth's Christian Era." Stacey commented. She was waiting for the lines coming up, watching her Squadron Commander intently, as were her entire crew.

"-But of all the Thompson Gunners

Roland was the best

So the CIA decided

They wanted Roland dead

That son-of-a-bitch Van Owen

Blew off Roland's Head

Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner

Time Time Time for another week of war

Norway's bravest son

Time stands still for Roland til he evens up the score

They can still see his headless body

Stalking through the night

In the muzzle flash of Roland's Thompson Gun

In the muzzle flash of Roland's Thompson Gun."

"Wait, he's dead but still fighting?" Huggins gasped. Stacey nodded, moving her beer to aim at Dollaryde.

"Roland searched the continent

For the man who'd done him in

He found him in Mombasa

In a bar room drinkin' Gin

Roland aimed his Thompson Gun

He didn't say a word

But he blew Van Owen's body

From there to Johannesburg."

"What maniac came up with that song!"

"A man named Warren Zevon. The Balladeer of the Mercenary back in the 20th century CE." Stacey grinned. "Back home we love old Martial music from that Era."

"Yeah." Cartier said with a wide grin. Every marching song from the 17th to 20th century CE, and even some that never happened."

Huggins shook her head in astonishment as she looked at the faces grinning at her. "What kind of people settled Sidemore?"

"Dreamers, LD." Stacey grinned wider at Huggins' flinch. "Dreamers who wanted something that was long gone, or never was."

**Pursuit of the Dream**

It is a well known fact that a lot of the worlds settled by mankind in the first four or five centuries after the Diaspora began were settled by the disgruntled. People who felt outside of modern society for whenever they happened to live. Planets like Grayson were settled by religious extremists, the Mfecane worlds and Voortrekker by racial extremists, Das Reich and Rodina by political extremists. All yearning for their view of a perfect society.

In most cases, those who stayed behind let them go with relief. After all, there are enough _amateur_ lunatics in any society for anyone to want to try to bottle up _professional_ ones.

But Sidemore had been settled by a different breed of Treecat. It was the only planet known to have been settled from everywhere on Old Earth, and had only one thing in common:

They were all members of an organization called the Society For Creative Anachronisms.

The Organization itself started in 1966 CE with a small group that began recreating the Era called the Middle Ages on Earth, from 1100 CE to 1500. In that it was nothing really new; there had been groups in the Old United States that had reenacted battles from their own Revolution and the War Between the States for decades, just as there had been groups in the European States that reenacted battles from the Scottish Wars, and on to the Napoleonic era. Even Oriental ones that reenacted such events as the raid of trhe 47 Ronin fron the 19th century CE. But after the Bicentennial reenactment of the Battle Of Gettysburg, it was announced that all such reenactors were going to join together just as the SCA.

The event was a three day spectacular with almost 200,000 participants in full garb and equipment, and viewed system wide by almost 12 billion people.

In the late 16th century PD when the organization had several million members, one old reenactor died, and left his estate to the SCA to fund colonization of a world for people willing in his own words, to 'put up or shut up'. If he hadn't been a multibillionaire, Samuel Cline's bequest would have been ignored. But his lawyer had checked the registry of newly discovered worlds, and one planet on the outskirts of the Silesian confederacy had just been listed with the Bureau of Immigration.

People always asked those from Sidemore why the planet had that name instead of Marsh, like the system. The fact of the matter was that the Captain of the 2.5 megaton Manticoran merchant vessel HMMS _Bonaventure_ that had stopped there to do repairs on her hyperdrive was Charles Patrick Marsh, and his wife's maiden name was Marian Sidemore. As the discoverer, he named both system and planet and did a basic survey before they departed for home.

Resource wise, the system was incredibly poor; only one small asteroid belt, no major sources for anything beyond iron, but a beautiful world that could support maybe two billion on agriculture alone with no major predators beyond some solitary hunters in the deep woods; and there was a lot of deep woods along with two major oceans three land masses large enough to be called continents, and thousands of islands. Something like what old Earth had been like before humans evolved and got organized.

The SCA put in the bid early, and most of the Transtellars that might have tried to outbid them merely dropped out when the Manticoran Survey Organization reported the lack of material wealth. So in 1675 PD the aptly named _Anachronism_ set out with the first of the 200,000 new settlers. The culling process had been fierce; the settlers had limited everything but medical treatment, communications, and the infrastructure necessary to build and maintain an orbital station to what had been available in the late 19th century CE. Small 'life-flight' helicopters running on hydrogen and convertible to biodiesel were added as medical support along with ten of the original aircraft. Two dozen LACs had also been bought second hand as the foundation of their customs patrol.

Politically they had been diverse, but those original settlers had a simple way to deal with problems of that type. When the first arguments happened in Cline's Landing, those who disagreed merely packed their gear in replicas of the old Conestoga wagon or Red River cart, and moved further away. After all, when the only regular transport was the horses they had brought with them, traveling as little as fifty kilometers was enough to be away from the brouhaha.

Contact with the rest of the galaxy was, due to their location and scarcity of trade goods, sporadic. Ships came by about twice a year though no one would have been surprised if only one came in. They sold fresh and 'canned' foods, some homemade wines beers and 'moonshine', skins and pelts of local animals, along with some hand carvings pottery and textiles. In return their medical database was updated when possible, and some equipment to repair the machinery they did have was bought. When the Silesian Confederacy began it's slide into anarchy they were blissfully unaware until a few pirates hit the system.

Then Andre Warnecke chose it for his new base. He sent in a captured merchant ship to scout it out, then came in with the five ships of his original squadron to crush the LACs defending it, blowing the orbital station at the same time. Every shuttle on the surface including the fuel lighter that had kept the LACs operational were blown away with kinetic energy strikes along with the towns they were in. Only after slaughtering almost 60,000 people had he demanded the planet's surrender.

Armed only with weapons that a citizen of the American Old West would have recognized, against modern pulsers, combat armor even simple_ ballistic _armor, it was no contest. The worst was that with only a bit more than two million people on the planet, their time honored 'move away' strategy didn't work. Not against orbital surveillance, armed assault landers and KEWs. If Warnecke wanted you to move, you moved. If he didn't want you to move, you stayed where the hell you were. Or you were annihilated by people you never even saw before you died.

That, was how it was when a warship named HMAMC _Wayfarer_ came in and blew the house of cards apart 12 years earlier, saving the survivors.

"That's why our uniforms are this color. One of the largest groups of our original settlers were the ones who reenacted the War between the States, and the Confederate Army wore the same color, so the ground forces wear Union Blue. In fact our mess dress uniforms even today are replicas of those armies down to the insignia." Cartier finished.

"And I thought Graysons were stubborn." Huggins commented.

"Nah." Drive rating 1st class Shanaseth Reed grinned. "Compared to us, they're dilettantes."


	8. Shades of Macbeth

**Shades of Macbeth**

The last days had been busy as the crew drilled. The crew complained as you might expect, but Rebecca remembered and agreed with the words of the Jewish Historian Flavius Josephus regarding their opponent back then, the Roman Empire, 'Their drills are bloodless battles, and their battles bloody drills'. She had gotten off light on the last cruise, but no one with a military career depended on luck.

"That wasn't too bad." She purred as the battle simulation ended. "Mr. Cathcart, please report to the bridge." She leaned back, waiting patiently. The hatch opened, and Cathcart, looking uncomfortable in a skin suit carrying his helmet came in. "Mr. Cathcart, what happened down there? You were supposed to simulate dropping a twenty-five pod salvo."

"My men aren't used to maneuvering in zero Gee and vacuum." He replied. "And some of them almost went Dutchman on us when one of the men with a tractor gun accidentally activated it for real. Besides, the Republic Pods are much larger than ours; they only stack twenty high."

"I know your department was hard hit when we got home, something like 75% of them. But you have that core of people who did remain."

"But they are violating too many safety rules! Not anchoring down when shifting cargo, using only three tractor guns instead of the four recommended-"

"I know you weren't on our last cruise, Mr. Cathcart. But we tested the concept while transferring pods at the stations before our actual battle, and it worked. It worked well enough that we blew an SD to hell using it. I want your people to start over. This time without skin suits and with the cargo hold closed. But you will shift the pods in the hold when you do. Until your men can do this, on time and on command, your department is a waste of space on a warship in battle."

"Yes, captain." He answered. But he was furious. He nodded, then left.

"You came down pretty hard on him, skipper." Hughes commented leaning on the arm of the command chair.

Rebecca shrugged helplessly. "I can't help it, Number One. The Third Reformation Anabaptist church spent the better part of 500 years trying to get the Second Reformation Catholics declared a cult so they could be taxed, or a terrorist organization with over two millennia of atrocities to their credit."

"That was over a millennia ago skipper. And in what is now the League, not out here."

"Well we tend to hold a grudge." Rebecca replied defensively. "His religion just rubs me the wrong way, and his holier than thou bullshit about Dollaryde just pissed me off."

"Maybe I should deal with him directly from now on then."

"If you would."

"Captain, we have a Republican collier coming toward us from the inner system. Squawking RHNS _Manhattan_." Zachary reported.

"Have they signaled us?"

"Not yet-"

"Signal from RHNS _Manhattan _via FTLcom." Lieutenant Sayoko Gill reported, half turning from her station. "They are delivering the missiles for the other two merchant cruisers."

"Who are not yet here. Signal them to assume station astern to our starboard side."

"Yes, ma'am." She started to turn back, then turned toward her captain again. "HMS _Fairy_ _Lights_ calling our number, also FTL. Inbound from the Junction with the rest of the squadron."

"Make sure she knows where we are, lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am."

Rebecca brought up the tactical plot. A light minute away, she could see six ships closing on her own from the Junction, located at about 2 o'clock. Another blip at approximately 6 o'clock had the transponder of the Republican ship.

She mentally worked it out. About thirty minutes before any of them came close enough to actually see. "Number One, call down to Cathcart's office. Ask Ensign Kyle to report to my office."

"Yes, skipper."

"I'll be back before they get here. You have the conn."

"Yes, ma'am."

Rebecca reached her office in plenty of time. When the sentry announced the young officer, Rebecca let him in. He reminded her of Gaelin. He was the same type of person; solidly built, with the same confident air she had seen in her old friend.

"Ensign Kyle, reporting as ordered." He snapped a salute.

"Stand easy, Mr. Kyle. Actually it was your furry minion I wanted to talk to."

"Daedalus?" The young man looked up at the cat who looked back.

Before Rebecca could explain, Irene leaped up on her desk. The cat sat, tail around her paws, and looked up, meowing plaintively. The treecat jumped, landing on the desk. Then crouched down so he was nose to nose with the cat.

"Ah, I see." The young man grinned. "Daedalus had a chance to hear the memory song of Seeks Answers about Cat Like Joker and her mindblind kitten Always Wants Attention."

"Seeks Answers?"

"The name of Commander Gaelin's treecat in their language."

So I'm the latest gossip subject for the treecats?"

"Not hardly, captain. How much do you know about how the treecats communicate?"

"As much as the average woman on the street, meaning little or nothing."

"Well a few years ago, the xenolinguist Adelina Arif was asked by Steadholder Harrington-Alexander to find a way to communicate with the treecats using sign language."

"I was that far along already." Rebecca replied with the sign language for 'ha, ha, very funny'. "Holmes taught me some." Daedalus gave that gap mouth yawn she recognized as a treecat laugh. The cat started to signal, but stopped when she raised a hand. "Please, Daedalus. That is the extent of what I know." The cat snorted derisively. "Laugh it up, fuzzball." Again a treecat laugh.

"I was going to ask Daedalus if he would spend time with Irene." She motioned toward the cat who was now crooning to the larger treecat. The cat looked to his human, and began signaling.

"He would enjoy that." He cocked his head. "He says, the mindglow of a child is a delight to them."

"Irene is almost a T year old."

"But she is still like a child to him." Kyle commented. "domestic cats are known to them, but not on a long term basis until now."

"Ah." Rebecca motioned the young man closer. "I bought a treecat module, one of the most modern made, but she thinks I am punishing her when I put her in it. I ask, when we go into combat, if Daedalus can be inside with her if he does not mind."

The young man blinked back tears. "I was worried about his safety; I could only afford to buy a standard module. Thank you."

"No matter, Mr. Kyle. I will let the sentry know that Daedalus can access my quarters at any time. Thank you, Daedalus."

The cat signaled. "It is an honor to accompany such a young one." Kyle translated.

"We're expecting company, so I suggest you get back to work."

"Yes, Captain." He gathered up his cat, and departed.

She stood, Irene stood on her hind legs, snagging Rebecca's tunic. She rubbed the cat's ears. "Always Wants Attention, eh? Boy Holmes had you pegged."

She was back on the bridge a few moments later. The ships were decellerating, now only advancing at about ten KPS. There were two ships the same mass as _Witch Maiden, Fairy Lights _and_ Canarvon Castle_, and four that were around 3.5 megatons. And the 1 megaton battlecruiser sized collier. The names were familiar, and she suddenly realized why as they slowed to a stop. "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." She whispered with a grin. Suddenly the transponders shut down then came back up. _Witch Queen_ and _Witch Bride_ now sat there.

"Saya, call the witches and Manhattan, split screen."

Behind her Gill looked up in surprise. "Yes ma'am."

The main screen lit up with three faces, two she recognized. "Connor, Miriam, good to see you again." She looked at the last. "I am Captain Duvalier. You are?"

"Robespierre." He replied. "Patrice Robespierre." He was stiff. One of those Manticore haters still.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, captain Robespierre. Our ships have 96 hours before we deploy. Can you crossload the ordinance in that time?"

He snorted in derision. "You Manties may have better technology, but we can deal with that minor problem without your assistance. I estimate seven hours to load both."

"Ah good. Before we depart, I wanted to have a little competition." She keyed the list Le Clerc had delivered. "The file I am sending is a list of spectator sports that can be performed on ship, that I know for sure we; that is the Republican contingent aboard and my own crew have sufficient members to play. I am asking all three of your ships to participate."

"What about the CLACs?" Connor McCoy asked. He was a short man from Manticore, standing only about 1.65 meters. A class behind her, he had just made captain of the list.

"I'll check with them. Please send the sports you can participate in."

"And if we refuse to play your little game, Captain Duvalier?" Robespierre asked.

"Captain, this is to help our crews work together. There have been too many years of war between us for anyone to merely agree that we should like each other now. I felt that a competiton that has our people participating out of pride would bind our crew together, since there are almost 100 people from your own nation are aboard my ship, we should start that learning process early.

"You can refuse to participate if you wish; after all you are not making this deployment with us. But even if you do not, please send some of your people to join the spectators anyway. We will be clearing a section of our Number 2 cargo bay for the events as soon as I have a list. That means we can have 400 spectators, and will film it in HD for those crews that cannot see it in person. That is fifty people from each ship."

"I will take it under advisement. Robespierre clear." His thrusters kicked in as he moved his ship toward the waiting merchant cruisers.

"I have a feeling he doesn't like us." Miriam Schaefer commented. Almost two meters tall, she was a Sphinxian who had made list about a month after Rebecca.

"We all understand why, Miriam. When you end a twenty year old shooting war, you can't expect to have everyone just kiss and make up. Maybe this idea will work. It's a lot less apocalyptic than an actual battle would be."

**The Games**

As abrasive as Robespierre was, his crew was well trained. Parking his ship between the two merchant cruisers with less than a ten kilometers separation, the cargo holds on both sides of his ship opened, and crossloading began. Based on a prewar design for a minelayer, the ship could deploy her entire load rapidly on the fly. She could as readily 'sweep' her own loadout back into those holds if necessary. Similar ships had been used both at 1st Hancock and at Chantilly where they had thickened the defenses of the embattled units. The larger Republican pods caused the ships receiving them to juggle the load. While a thousand of the standard pods of the Alliance would fill those holds, they could only accomodate 800 of these larger ones.

Finally the sports that could be used came back. Volleyball, boxing, greco-roman wrestling, fencing, the Coup, and kendo. Some others, Chess and Shogi were suggested, but shot down. Honestly, if you were not an aficionado or playing yourself, watching either was like watching paint dry. However there weren't enough boxers to field more than three actual bouts, so it was struck from the list. Robespierre came back with the Coup, and wrestling.

One sport suggested was simulated LAC combat. After all five of the ships did carry LACs, though of two disparate designs. Finally it was decided that only the Ferrets could participate, and that the Sidemore ships would have their missiles stepped down to what a Ferret normally carried. By the same token, the Ferret Bs were limited to the performance of the original. Since there were only four Ferrets, each of the four Sidemore units were allowed only four participants.

Surprisingly, Robespierre did want to offer a team for that last as well. He had two officers that had begun in LACs. That meant they juggled the teams again, limiting them to only two craft, with the Republican LAC officers to use two of the Sidemore LACs.

"Mr. Quintain, call the LAC commanders together for a briefing on the contest, please." Huggins ordered as she entered Prifly.

"Shall I call the Warrants as well, ma'am?"

Huggins stopped, her head tracking like one of the ship's grazers to lock on his face. "Oh by all means, just call the 'real' officers." She said sarcastically.

Quintain flinched under her gaze. "I just thought-"

"No, Mr. Quintain. You did not think. I am so sure we officers are so much wiser than the warrants and middie. Because we have gone through Saganami Island we have so much more experience than they do." Her tone could have stripped the paint off the bulkheads. "Let me remind you that the youngest of our warrants has a minimum of seven years more service time than any of us; Two of them have more hours in LACs than either of us.

"You obviously didn't pay attention to the history of Aircraft operations during Old Earth's second world war. Most of the more efficient pilots of that era from everywhere but the old United States were enlisted men. The top 'aces' of that war for two nations, Japan and the Old Soviet Union were enlisted men.

"So by all means, leave our warrants and our middie out of it. They're obviously too stupid to offer anything of value." She snorted. "Call all of our commanders, lieutenant." She stalked on without another word. She knew she had handled it badly, but Quintain was an elitist prick. If something was assigned to prifly, such as a pinnace or shuttle flight, he automatically assigned a lieutenant having the warrants or Middie as copilot. If he was on prifly rotation none of the juniors was getting any time in the left seat.

She had to think of a way to snap him back without berating him, but the man just made it so much more satisfying to snarl at him. Higgins walked into the briefing room bringing up the viewscreen. The LAC commanders came, taking their seats. In deference to the senior pilots, the Sidemore contingent took the last row of seats. Another of Quintain's 'improvements'.

"All right ladies and gentlemen, the specs on the competition. First, only Ferrets are going to participate. So the rest of you can just kibbitz."

"We'll kick their ass." Devon Carstairs, commander of HMSLAC _Wolverine_ said with a grin. He did a high five with Edward Mikashima, commander of HMSLAC _Weasel_.

"Bet they use the seniors on this one." Warrant 2, Sam Sloan commanding RSNLAC _Otter_ commented sotto voce. Stacey nodded.

"Actually I was going to have a drawing." Huggins commented, catching Sloan unaware. He blushed as the some of the others laughed. "Except for the two Republican pilots, we're the only ship with people who have been in combat. It wouldn't be fair to merely toss our most experienced pilots into the mix just because they are experienced." She took off her beret, and went to the Ferret pilots. "Put something identifiable in my hat." Both of the Sidemore commanders put their rank insignia in; after all the Gold bar with a red center band of Stacey, and the silver bar with a blue band would be easily identifiable.

Carstairs took his bar, leaving the magnetic clips on the back of the insignia on, while Mikashima put his in without them. Huggins walked back up to the front, setting her hat on the podium. She looked at them, then dipped her hand in. She intentionally waited until she touched a bad, then picked it up holding it by the edges. "Mr. Mikashima." Her hand dipped in again, then came out. "Miss Kramer."

"Oh we're so hosed." Someone said.

"We have to kick the kids out of the nest sooner or later." Huggins chided.

"But Skipper, she has less than a week in type. Maybe twenty hours all told." Quintain protested. "She doesn't have enough experience to compete."

"Really." Huggins replied flatly.

"Both of our senior Ferret pilots have almost a year in type. Hell, skipper, both you and I have more time in a Ferret than she does."

"And your point?"

"If you're going to draw, have it be the four with experience, not some junior officer we had dumped on us."

Huggins walked around the podium, hands clasped behind her back. "I notice you left out our warrant officer. Again."

"Well Sloan probably has more experience than she does in type-"

"Mr. Sloan, how much time do you have in the Sidemore version of the Cimeterre?"

"The word means Scimitar in French, skipper. We call them Sabers because of that." Sloan replied. "Six years, eight months. About 6200 hours all told, including 4000 operational." He paused. "In Ferrets, about 90 hours."

"So our warrant has more time than everyone except for the other Warrants combined, Mr. Quintain. Now why did you leave him out of our little raffle?"

"I know he may have more time in one of the Republic type, but in a Ferret-"

"Shut up." He fell silent as she looked at him cooly. "Unless she feels she cannot compete, Miss Kramer is our number two. Do you have any further problems with my decision?"

"No, skipper."

"Then Mr. Mikashima, Miss Kramer good luck." She strode down the aisle in silence. She went into her office. Back at home in Harrington Steading, when she felt this frustrated, she would go as far from people as she could and scream. Or into her bunk room and cover her face with a pillow to scream. Here she shared a cabin with two others. Thanks to the new pilots, she had enough women to share that space with, but a commanding officer, even of an LAC squadron couldn't vent her frustrations in front of her juniors; it just wasn't done.

"Skipper?" She spun. She hadn't closed the door, and because of that, her policy had been anyone who passed by could just ask permission to enter. Stacey stood there as if she expected to be berated too.

She sighed, taking her chair. "Something I can help you with, Stace?"

She entered the office hesitantly. "I may not like the way he said it, but Lieutenant Quintain is right about my experience. I don't even have the twenty hours he granted me. I barely have eighteen."

"Close the door and sit down." Stacey did as she was told. "You think you can't handle it, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You see this ribbon?" She tapped the Grayson Shield. The girl looked up, and nodded. "Well I was assigned to GSNS Montrose right out of flight school. I had less than 30 hours in a Ferret when we launched at the Battle of Manticore. I was one of the junior officers, not much further along than you are now. Everyone senior to me was killed, and I led two others to safety from that hell. I earned this medal in that battle." She looked at the girl. She already looked defeated. "Ignore Quintain. The only one who can decide if you can do it is you. Before you take that as permission to quit, think of this; I wasn't given the option to quit. I was to get through the enemy screen, inflicting as much damage as I could. That was the extent of our orders when we launched. I felt just as competent as you do right now. I survived, and killed an enemy battlecruiser as we blew through them.

"The competition is in three stages; a single squadron attack on a collier, the second a strike with the remaining ships of that squadron on a heavy cruiser, the third hasn't been determined as yet. If you don't screw up too badly in the first, come and talk to me again if you want to just quit."

"But that would mean..."

"Yeah, you'll be disqualified. But you can run the same sims everyone else does before it begins. After all, we have almost 40 hours before the competition begins. If you can't handle it, be sure that the other two Ferret commanders will be already practicing. Knowing Quintain, I'm sure he'll be using his bird to study it too. Come back to me before the competition starts if you want to be replaced."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Damn it!" Stacey growled. She had looked at the two loaded scenarios, and run them both. The first was a spoiling attack on a an unescorted Solarian collier orbiting a planet awaiting the arrival of her squadron. Class wasn't determined, but she had been told that while the same size as _Witch Maiden_, she did not have pod launch capability. The total time alloted for the exercise was ten hours, to allow for any permutation of planning the assault. At the end of that time, the player would be eliminated from the competition.

The second would be a picket line, a heavy cruiser of the _Gladiator_ Class on patrol by herself. She would have to either slip past if possible, or engage and destroy it. But the exercises were progressive; she would 'command' twelve birds for exercise one. Any that survived that engagement would be available for the second. Again ten hours was alloted.

Since there would be a dozen LACs to command, a commander could literally 'die' and still be there; if LAC A, the command LAC were destroyed, the commander would now be on LAC B until they were finally in command of LAC L, the last bird. This was because a squadron commander would have told his subordinates what to do, and they would continue the mission until the next senior below them decided to give it up. But as long as they completed their missions, if only one survived, they would go on to the third problem.

"Well, Skip?" Cartier asked. Stacey looked up from the pad.

"I think we're hosed, Boats." Stacey admitted. "Crew aboard?"

"Have been since we got the nod."

She stood, and walked toward the LAC bay, looking it over again. "We have to think of a hard and dirty way to take the collier. While we could swarm it under, we'd lose maybe half of the squadron taking her down, but that would leave only six or seven to take down the cruiser. And that would mean we'd lose the same against the cruiser. Maybe we could do it twice, but we'd be too short to guarantee that."

They walked up the ramp side by side toward the bridge of the little craft. "Well we do still have about eight hours left to practice." Cartier commented. "Unless you give it up."

Stacey stopped short of the bridge, looking at her helmsman. "So you guys think I've already lost too?"

"No, ma'am." Cartier sighed. "Can I speak just woman to woman, skip?"

"Please do."

"You've got good instincts. The Skipper has tossed things at you hot and heavy, a lot harder than they did at the school from what our warrants have told me. You might get flustered, you might jump the wrong way, but they think you're doing well considering. Maybe this is a big jump, but they didn't go into simulator combat until the second month. She could have dropped you from the competition without any complaints from the Captain if she felt you couldn't handle it."

"But I've only been in command for four days, Boats!" Stacey wanted to rip out her hair. "I'm not sure if I can do this?"

Cartier watched her, then set an almost motherly hand on her shoulder. "You have to get out of the nest eventually. And we do know what she's been doing up to now. Just go with the flow."

"Easy for you to say. You're not making the decisions!"

"It's not the end of the world if we lose this time."

"It might be for me." Stacey looked down. "If I screw the pooch here I may never get an LAC command slot again. I wanted to see if the tactics I mentioned in my thesis would work. And I wanted to be one of those that tried them against an enemy."

"Then do it here."

She looked back up. "I could withdraw-"

"Which will definitely kill any future LAC command slot." Cartier cut her off. "Not because they might not let you try again. But because the very first time you had the opportunity you ran. And running gets to be a habit.

"You might get bumped from the command here because you still lack experience, but the fact that you're trying as hard as you can means something."

"Fine." She walked on into the bridge. "Set simulator to exercise one, and prepare to depart."

"Exercise one prepped." Missile tech 1st Swindon replied.

_Had they been listening?_ Stacey wondered. _It's not like we were keeping our voices down. Do they wish they had a better commander than me?_ Her mind ran through the problem, from launch to attack. _They'll see the CLAC drop us, that's a given. So they'll know where we started from, and set their recon shell accordingly..._

"Give me a sec, people." She tapped the communications stud. "Skipper?"

A moment later, Huggins replied. She asked just one question. Then she gave a feral grin. _Either I'll be considered an innovator, or a total loon._

**Game day**

While everyone was shuttling over for the competiton, The LAC component had started almost twelve hours earlier. Each of the _Witches_ was handling two of them, with the bridge crew and CIC each acting as OpFor on the problem. The parameters were simple and both sides knew them; the CLAC knew where the planet the target was orbiting was, so they could drop out of hyper and launch the squadron tasked without approaching. They would be close enough that the collier would see the arrival of the CLAC, and could lay out a recon shell accordingly. All but one had been normal. But that one...

"She's sneakier than I imagined." Rebecca commented. She had assured that Kramer's attempt was assigned to her primarily because of the reports Huggins had been giving her. They had rammed the course information and data down hard on the girl; in fact after the second day they had cut out any work other than LAC related training out of her schedule just to make sure she got some sleep. Her CLAC had dropped in, and Zachary had been deploying the recon shell when it hypered back out.

She had checked the timing, and it had waited almost exactly as long as it would have taken to recycle her hyper generator. A few minutes later, it had come back in about 20 degrees further along the limit, but only stayed for a recycle, and did so at nine different locations. Each was far enough apart that a recon shell for one would ignore glaring holes from the others.

Her first launch had been spread from to cover until finally she had seven shells launched, and for the first time since she had deployed, had literally run out of recon drones. Oh she had all of the possilbe approaches covered, but the shell was very thin.

"Maybe not." Zachary reported. "We have a hit." He brought it on screen. A faint reading from what would probably be an LAC. Then it became three, then finally all of them, approaching from the fourth locus. "Approaching under low powered wedge. Distance, 6.5 million kilometers. Rate of advance, 300Gs, 18,000 kilometers per second." He tapped the controls. "Moving closest drones."

"If she's coming from there, we have about a minute." Rebecca considered. "Still out of decent radar range."

"Ma'am, it's firming up." He stiffened. "It's three LACs towing decoys!"

She considered. "Go active radar, full sweep!"

The pulse went out, and she stiffened. Nine LACs running in two lines, as clear as a bell, 400,000 kilometers away with her ship between their courses! "All weapons systems on automatic!" The room shuddered, then the screens went blank. "Report!"

"They waited until they caught our pulse. They must have fired the lasers including their point defense the instant they did." Zachary replied. He brought up the exercise in Admin mode, then chuckled. "Check it out, Skipper."

In admin mode, which Rebecca had locked out before this, it showed the CLAC dropping in, and clearly on her screen, showed nine LACs dropping free and accelerating under low powered wedges. Unlike the Alliance, the Republican LACs had to limit their advance to only 400Gs instead of the 500 An Alliance LAC could pull under stealth. But they could still close to six million kilometers undetected even by Alliance sensors. But the strike force had cut their wedges ten million kilometers away, still over six million outside the shell she had deployed.

By the time the shell had passed her, they had been merely lumps of ceramic and metal. Her own recons drones had spotted them on the closer drones; about a million kilometers distant, but both Sam and Abbie had dismissed them as meteors. After all, at that range, thanks to the radar absorbent material built into them, they had read as something massing around 5,000 tons, a lot less than an LAC. Then, still under full stealth without wedges, they had run in on her totally silent. Until they had detected the _second_ element. By then they were already within 600,000 kilometers. When the pulse hit them, they had fired a full load, fifteen PD clusters and the two lasers the LACs carried in each broadside, all more powerful than a Pinnace's mount.

They had ripped down the side of her ship, shattering both impeller rooms, her hyper generator, then Fusion one, which had exploded, blowing her to hell.

"Oh that was choice." Rebecca said with a smile. She suckered me good." She tapped the com panel. "Give me _Shrew_."

"Shrew reporting."

"Very well done, Stace."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Ready for round two?"

"Bring it." Behind the girl she could hear her crew cheering as she cut the connection.

A/N If you've been reading the reviews, you will notice that the last reviewer; a guest, brought up something I hoped you'd all notice, the interaction between Krueger and Dollaryde. First, while what he appears to be doing is in violation of Manticoran regs, it is and it isn't. It is because he is being disparaging, however as someone who served in the US military (US Coast Guard) I do know that such things happen all the time, and unless the person protests, or it is witnessed by another, nothing is done.

It is not because, like the definition of the term 'child abuse' from the 16th century, abuse is by the definition of that observer. So if an officer sees another officer or senior noncom witnesses this, he would use his own perception to determine whether this is a violation.

As to the word Schwulie (And the guest did what I thought, he looked it up) it is insulting, and is slang derived from another word which gender specific that he would have found if I had used it instead. This is to set up a more serious confrontation with someone else later.

The reason I did not reply directly to that guest is because the site doesn't give you that option.

So back to writing...


	9. LAC Competition- Stage two

**LAC Competition, Stage Two**

While scheduled to last ten hours if necessary, the first round had lasted only eight, longest being an attempt by the team from RSNS _Joseph O Shelby's_ Iron Brigade Squadron. That Squadron had dropped as normal, and taken a sharp dogleg above the ecliptic to attack _Witch Queen_ running full out in stealth for half of it, then mooching along on low powered wedges.

The collier had spotted them at 3 million kilometers, resulting in a brisk missile battle that had killed the collier thanks to two massive launches of half of their ordinance at a time, but had cost the attackers eight LACs. The shortest engagement had been under an hour with RSN _Raphael Semmes'_ Stainless Banner Squadron just charging in like maniacs against _Witch Bride_. But adroit handling had allowed eight of them to survive that engagement.

In length of engagement from launch to attack _Shrew_ had taken seven hours and thirty minutes; the second longest time, though of them all, only _Shrew's_ attack had been without a loss with _Semmes_ third after RSNS _Fitzhugh Lee's_ First Virginia Cavalry, which had scored second in shortest time at one hour 20 minutes and losses with nine survivors. Four hours was allowed between bouts so that all of the crews could relax at least a bit. By the time _Shrew_ had finished her run the second bouts had begun.

The original scenario had been changed less than an hour into the training because a squadron, even at half strength could swarm a single cruiser under. This new scenario was more complex. A single _Gladiator_ squadron_,_ two light minutes inside the hyper limit, protecting an OFS light task force in system, with the cruisers along the ecliptic every light minute covering about a ten LM swath of it, all under stealth, limiting detection range to about eight light minutes if they were maneuvering, or less than five million kilometers if they were not. A drone shell had automatically been deployed 10 million kilometers from each cruiser's initiallocation. Being Solarian drones, they would only last about 24 hours but their stealth systems made them hard targets to see beyond half a million kilometers unless maneuvering. Also, while you could spot the drone shell, you had no idea where the cruiser was _inside_ it.

All would be dropped less than fifteen LM out, so the fact that they were coming out be obvious. The Commanders were not told if the enemy squadron was maneuvering or not, and so could not choose where to hit along the picket line; only the location of the entry point they chose, not knowing where along the picket shell they were. So they might find themselves hitting the center, or being lucky and hitting one of the ships on the flanks of the formation, or in fact missing the picket line completely. If that happened, however, their orders were to close on that picket line and at least be spotted. In that case they orders were to 'run the enemy ragged chasing you'.

As explanation, they were a probing attack with enough decoy drones to simulate a full LAC group trying to draw the task force away from their base, which was the target of the remaining LACs of their CLAC, which had dropped in and deployed exactly opposite their attack two hours earlier beyond the forty LM range of detection of a hyper footprint. Usnig stealth they had moved to within ten light minutes. They would wait long enough to find out if that the task force; three battle cruisers with five destroyers remaining in system, were drawn out to deal with the smaller intruder force.

If they were drawn out, the group would wait until they were up to speed toward the raiders, and unable to stop a high speed attack on the base by the remaining 38 LACs. But a minimum of six hours later, they would attack anyway. The CLAC would hyper back in ten hours later to pick up any survivors. While the remaining LACs of the full wing together were enough to deal with the in system force, they could do so only by allowing the picketing ships sufficient time to come up their ass full bore.

Here it had to be quick and dirty. According to the rules the cruisers would logically call for support, though the nearest vessels were a minimum of forty five minutes or more away at their highest possible acceleration, and only after that would the task group be called in unless they broke through that perimeter.

In other words, a typical cavalry mission, which would please the Sidemore teams to no end. Also, failing to return because they were either destroyed or simply didn't make the rendevous was not a loss if the rest of the mission went as planned; though failing to draw off the task group was.

This had also given her a chance to exercise the rest of the LAC commanders aboard the attached mini CLACs (Why did they keep referring to themselves as 'Jeeps' anyway?) which had pleased their captains to no end. So she had four LAC groups prepping for the others side of what they called 'alpha strikes'.

She knew enough LAC jocks to know that both terms were distinctly Sidemoran. She'd have to find out what they meant.

She checked, and only two were running so far. Her own CIC busy dealing with _Fitzhugh Lee's_ First Virginia Cavalry, and _Witch Bride_ facing off against Stainless Banner. She shifted to Admin mode, and watched the first maneuvers. The other nickname for admin mode was 'god' mode, because first you were seeing everything in real time regardless of the distance between combatants and could tell the status of every system aboard every ship. There were also sidebars giving the amount of time that would pass before opponents would see each other, whether delayed by light-speed or actual realtime.

"Skipper?" Sayoko Gill turned. "Yacht _Oak Glen_ calling. Approaching us, requesting docking access for cargo transfer." Her head cocked. "Also transfer of personnel."

"Signal her to come up on our starboard side." She ordered. Curious; she knew Os was aboard, but why request transfer if he was returning?

The size of one of the older dispatch boats, _Oak Glen_ nuzzled up alongside the Witch Maiden and waited until the personnel tube extended to lock on. As the hatches on both ends opened, Os with the help of the three man crew first notified the bay supervisor, then began unloading her cargo. Since she had been the one suggesting the competition, Rebecca had taken it upon herself to arrange refreshments, so on each end one man anchored himself inside the tube, and kegs of beer, and cases of stronger drinks floated down the tube to be caught by the one inside, who handed them off to the crewmen that stacked them on pallets. Fifty kegs of assorted beer, nine cases of wines, and five cases of harder alcohol flowed smoothly from ship to ship for the blowout celebration.

After that, Os came aboard, but after reporting, stayed near the end of the tube. Then a younger man swam it. When he came down, he stumbled, and Os caught his arm. The young man used the cane he held in his left hand to steady himself, then saluted the OOD. "Request Permission to come aboard?"

"Welcome back, Mr. Stanhope." Ensign Kyle replied.

"I have to take this to sickbay." He dropped the salute, and pulled a chip folder from his pocket.

"Understood. Rating Driscoll-"

"I'll walk him down there, sir." Oscelli told him.

"Very well, Mr. Oscelli. Carry on."

As more and more of the participants in the LAC competition began their runs, the first loss occurred. First Virginia had landed almost dead center on the enemy line. They had deployed recon drones to detect the picket shell, then begun an unpowered advance as soon as they did. But they had failed to probe beyond it. Diedre had moved her cruisers to the edges of the drone shell, and gone silent again before those drones arrived. The first that they knew she had was when a double broadside had been flushed right into their teeth. The LACs had gotten their wedges up, then attempted a wild ass charge like Stainless Banner had in their first competition. Their target cruiser had survived, if a lamed hulk was surviving, but the squadon had been wiped out.

Stainless Banner's commander had landed pretty much in the same place, but she had shown a cunning side. She sent in the recon drones, allowing _Witch Bride_ the same chance that Hughes had. Then appeared to try another fast approach. But Stainless Banner launched a dozen decoy drones and had instead split into two sections, passed over and under the picket line outside of detection range, then even blew a raspberry at her opponents as they went to full power charging in system with the decoys remaining appearing to be a full launch. Fifty minutes into the exercise, they had gone stealth again, and almost three hundred Solarian recon drones were trying to localize them. The in system task group had split into three elements itself to give chase.

The next three competitors were already running their opponents ragged. Mikishima was facing the toughest test; _Witch Queen_ was holding the task group in tight, forcing him to come to her. The two Republican units, named Imperial Guard Cavalry and 1er Regiment de Carabiniers had both slipped the pickets in almost as cheeky a manner as Stainless Banner and were running the picket cruisers around. But Forrest's Cavalry Corps, which had slipped the picket line had run in without deviating from course before going into stealth. Then had made the mistake of not altering it. They ran into the three destroyers _Witch Queen _had sent out which had merely boosted along their projected course then gone silent. While two of his five LACs survived killing both destroyers, both were damaged as they had gotten suckered into energy range.

Now Stacey's _Shrew_ squadron had just started. "Sam, I'll let you handle the Iron Brigade. I'm going to watch _Shrew."_

Zachary waved, looking at Krueger who was sitting in as A-Tac just as Riyal had in CIC backing Diedre Hughes and Abigail.

On God mode, Stacey hadn't done much yet; she had been placed on one end of the picket line, and had deployed recon drones which slid though the enemy unpowered. None had been spotted, and she seemed to be considering- the full dozen LACs went to very low powered wedges, sliding along the outside of the picket's shell, then when well clear, boosted speed toward the inner system units. Rebecca didn't understand. Why hadn't she spooked the picket?

Suddenly there was an omnidiectional signal from one detached recon drone offset by almost four light minutes _behind_ the line a million and a half kilometers behind it. It would take a few seconds- Now the cruisers had brought their wedges up. Their drone shells moving into a long wide swath charging toward the radio source. Her annunciator chimed, and she thumbed it. "Captain speaking."

"The competitons have gotten off to a good start." Hughes reported.

"What's going on right now?"

"First eliminations for Volleyball and wrestling."

"How are we dealing with having nine teams for those?"

"Our Republic contingent dropped out of the volleyball tournament, and we dropped out of the wrestling." She laughed, "the wrestling team from _Semmes_ was taunting us until they saw color sergeant Valenzuela."

They both laughed at that. Hector Valenzuela, captain of the wrestling team, had been born and raised in occupied San Martin, and joined the Royal Marines when his homeworld was liberated. He was one of the rare tall San Martinos; and at 220 centimeters, 260 kilos he had taken the right to be big to new extremes. In fact he was the only practitoner of Sumo wrestling aboard as well. There was literally no one in his weight class on any of the ships of the squadron in either sport.

"But all of the Sudemoran fencing teams were mad at us."

"Why?"

"Fencing is linked to their code duello. So we got a twelve person team from each ship."

"Twelve!"

"Yep. Gladitorial technique, Something called Bowie knife, though I would call it a short sword, foil, epee and saber like normal, rapier and main gauche- don't ask, it has to to be seen to be believed- bastard sword, katana, katana and wakizashi, and quarterstaff."

"I knew they had a dueling code, but that sounds barbaric even by our standards." While there were constant efforts expended to either make dueling illegal, or at least limit it to the less dangerous Dreyfus protocol, the more lethal Ellington protocol was still being used.

"It would be if they actually fought to the death. But they explained it to me. Their dueling code is almost completely nonlethal. Since they were mainly reenactors and descendants of reenactors, just about everyone is skilled in the use both edged and projectile weapons, and the person challenged has the right to choose the weapons, so you can choose edged or projectile. The seconds are allowed to alter that with agreement in the interests of fair play. They wear the same kind of clothes used in sparring with both Grayson and standard fencing, so you'd get bruised, but not cut up.

"Using guns, they actually manufacture cartridges with paint capsules. Unless the person aims at you intentionally to kill, you're relatively safe." Hughes chuckled. "In their 200 odd years, only fifty have died in duels."

"Did they offer to demonstrate these other styles?"

"Everything but katana; those members are their kendo team."

"I hope to see it."

"Better hurry down then."

"I'll have lieutenant Huggins watch the rest of Stace's run then." She looked at the screen. _Shrew's_ LACs were inbound, still in the clear. The Recon drone used to decoy them was still there in her god mode, even though the Sollie drones had passed by it as it went passive. In fact, the cruisers were going to overfly it within a few minutes. "I'll let her know, and be right down." She disconnected, then hit the button for Prifly.

"Prifly, Huggins."

"Have you been monitoring Stacey?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I finally came up with a scenario for the last competition. The Capwell inner system fight."

"But that gives Mikishima an unfair advantage."

"Not really; you know as well as I do that a sim never goes exactly the same as the actual battle. That is why even after 2200 years no one has won the simulations of the Battle of Midway as brilliantly as the US Navy did in reality. What I did was set it so that they have exactly the same ships. If the Ferret gets killed, they are eliminated. Also, I included the capture of the the ships. I have not told them, but they must capture, not destroy them. If they destroy either intentionally, they are eliminated."

"So they have to do as well?"

"Yes." Huggins grinned. "It also gave me a chance to give our friend Quintain an independant command. I'm going to have him lead it with _Shrew_ as his Ferret."

"So she's done well enough to keep the command in you opinion?"

"You must be joking, skipper. I was going to ask that she be assigned to me after the first competition."

Rebecca chuckled. "There's an old saying lieutenant, that you can tell the quality of a woman's mind by whether they agree with you about something or not. I like the way your mind works. When are you going to tell her?"

"Oh, she'll figure it out when she leaves the Ferret, skipper." Huggins replied.

"I want to be there when she does. Captain clear." Rebecca signed off,and stood. Saya, you have the conn." There was a muffled curse from the tacial section. It sounded like it was in German. "Sam, how is the Iron Brigade doing?" she asked artlessly.

"Better than anticipated. He's using his EW drones very well. Mr. Krueger's having difficulties." The younger man gave him a pained look. "Well you are, snottie. Now find them so I can kill them."

"Yes, sir."

**Surprises**

Stepping from the lift in Cargo 2 was like entering a sports arena. Forward to her left two volleyball nets were occupied by four teams; _Witch Queen_ playing the Republicans from _Manhattan_, her own team playing _Shelby's_ team. Aft to her left four mats had people wrestling. To save time, each wrestling team was comprised of four members, and scoring was on points, so the highest point total went on to the finals. As one of the Sidemorans pinned who appeared to be a Manticoran, she heard a droning. Oh god they didn't...

There was a rattling of drums, followed by the tune 'The Minstrel Boy' on bagpipes and drum. Eight people in three different uniforms marched past, two snare drums leading, followed by three pipers, and three bass drums. The uniforms were archaic, One snare drummer and one bass drum in a light blue, the other snare drummer in darker blue, the other five in red tunics with kilts in four different tartans.

"Will someone please put that cat out of it's misery!" Someone shouted from the stands where part of the Manticoran contigent was.

If she remembered correctly, Oliver Herford once said, 'The Irish gave the bagpipes to the Scotts as a joke, but the Scotts haven't seen the joke yet'. But like a lot of Gryphon Highlanders, she liked them. "Piper! Scotland the Brave!" she shouted. The band segued into the song she had requested with a small cheer as all of the Highlanders applauded it.

"So you like the pipes, Captain?" She turned to meet a dark haired captain in Gray.

"They're part of our heritage." She replied. "We haven't met. You are?"

Dwayne Kelly, _Semmes_," he waved. "Each of our ships carries at least one piper, one fife and two drummers. Mine are the two in Black Watch Tartan. _Shelby_ carries Seaforth Highlanders, _Forrest_ carries Scot's Guards, and _Lee_ carries Argyle and Sutherland."

"I thought the sett of their tartans were familiar."

"The others are 45th New York, and 1st Massachuttsetts; _Forrest_ and _Shelby_ respectively."

As he spoke, the pipes fell silent.

"How is the competition so far?"

"Without having to deal with that ogre of yours, I predict my own ship will take the wrestling. We're in the finals against _Witch Bride_. The Republic team looks to be winning the volleyball match." He stopped talking as a whistle sounded, the Republic team jumping up and down, hugging, and the Republic's contingent cheering. "Just as I said."

Fabrication had struck medals for the competitons for both first and second place only. As Rebecca found a seat, the two teams came forward, and Diedre Hughes hung their medals around their necks. Then the speakers in the cargo bay cleared, and the Republic of Haven's National anthem played as everyone stood.

Captain Kelly was right about his own crew's taking the wrestling. But the speakers stayed silent. A fifer in 45th New York blues marched forward, and began to play something she was sure she had heard before. Then the captain of the Sidemore team began to sink in a clear tenor.

"To dream ... the impossible dream ...

To fight ... the unbeatable foe ...

To bear ... with unbearable sorrow ..."

Oh my god. The Impossible Dream from the Man of La Mancha is your national anthem?"

Kelly laughed. "Considering who settled Sidemore, that surprises you?" He shook his head. "People who dreamed of a simpler life, and were willing to forgo 90 percent of modern technology in the process? That truly is the impossible dream."

"And I know if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest,

That my heart will lie will lie peaceful and calm,

when I'm laid to my rest ..." As the singer reached this point, the entire Sidemore Contingent stood and began to sing along.

"And the world will be better for this:

That one man, scorned and covered with scars,

Still strove, with his last ounce of courage,

To reach ... the unreachable star …"

On the wrestling mats pairs faced off with different weapons. After a moment, she finally understood Diedre's comment about rapier and main gauche. As they cleared off, Valenzuela stepped out to face the spectators. "Fengniao and Cao Mei Klumbach-Dollaryde, the Darling Duo." He spread his arms, and the girls with the precision of long practice stepped out from behind him, marching under his spread arms. Fengniao had her sword, her sister her yan yue dao. Then, before an entirely new audience, they performed their mock fight.

Yes, it looked like it would be a good day.


	10. A simple Explanation

**A Simple Explanation**

Chin Li splashed water on his face. That Sidemoran commander had been _sneaky_! With only four LACs remaining, he had run both Zachary and Krueger ragged, though they had finally pinned him between the inner system picket and blown him away. Now he had to change for the Kendo Competiton. He walked into his quarters, and suddenly grinned. "Joshua!" He walked over, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "You've been sent back to us?"

"Yeah." Stanhope tapped the cane. "Light duty for the next month, though. My balance isn't completely back yet. What have I missed?"

"Stacey is in the LAC competition as a Ferret commander. And I've taken our Mr. Dollaryde under my wing, Andermani style."

"An officer taking a rating as a special project?" Josh asked, curious. "I know if I were on a Grayson ship someone who knows my family would do that for me. But how does the Andermani navy do it?"

"I decided that our Mr. Dollaryde needs to improve his station. So I watch him like a hawk, catch him when he does something wrong, tell him what he's doing right, and insult him when I feel he needs another prodding."

Josh watched him curious. "Insult him? How?" Krueger explained, then at the other boy's request, told him what Schwulie meant. "You know what I think?" Krueger made a go ahead motion. "You're setting youself up for a charge of Conduct Unbecoming."

"What!" Chin Li was shocked. "Because I am pushing a rating?"

"No. For calling him that." Josh wiped his face. "We're on a Mantie ship, and they extend courtesy all the way down as well as up." He sighed at Krueger's confused expression. "Ok, you see a rating doing something wrong, you can insult his intelligence, or his skills, but you are not allowed to insult his racial make up, sexual orientation, or his planet of origin.

"In fact the term you used also insults his wives, because you have implied not only that he is gay, but that the only way he can satisfy them is by making love to them as if he were a woman, and that they prefer that kind of lover and return the favor to him, if you get my drift." With Krueger still confused he told him bluntly what that implied.

"Gott in Himmel! I didn't realize... So what do you suggest?"

"First, tell him you are no longer calling him that, and apologize. The rest... I can see what you're trying to do and as long as you avoid direct personal insults it should be all right." He considered. "Though I would talk to Commander Hayes, just in case."

"Thank you, Joshua. I'll talk to the commander and Herr Dollaryde the next time I am assigned to Engineering." He stood, changing into his Kendo gear. "Are you coming down to watch?"

"I can barely stand without listing, Chin Li."

The midshipman finished except for his helmet,, and extended his arm. "As you supported me, I will support you."

**LAC - Competiton three**

Stacey felt as if she had been wrung out like a bar rag as the second competiton ended. She had watched the inner system picket break up, the destroyers headed out with their own drone shell searching for her as the cruisers moved in from aft. But the battlecruisers had stubbornly stuck on station, moving just enough to place the base in the center of their triangle.

She had succesfully decoyed everything else; the cruisers and destroyers weren't within four light-minutes of her, but the battlecruisers still sat there. Then every enemy ship went to active radar. The lighter units would catch her drone before too long, but she was on a ballistic course with everything down toward battlecruiser two as their radar came up. "Fire a third of our missiles upon acquisition by the enemy. One each Dazzler and Dragon's teeth."

"A third of our loadout upon acquisition, one each Dazzler and Dragon's teeth aye."

"Impeller room, full wedge when we fire. Helm steer 010 by 120 eight hundred gravities on command."

"Full wedge on firing, aye." Reed repeated.

"Ready to go to course 010 by 120, eight hundred gravities on command."

They drifted silently closer. Two million kilometers, 1.8, 1.7, 1.6. "Detected!" Marla Sean shouted.

"All units, fire! All units, full wedge. Helm, execute!" She had chosen to come in with her LACs in a tight wall of battle, and as the impellers came up, 156 missiles speared at her massive foe at almost a thousand kilometers a second. Before the ship even knew they were there the first dazzler went off, followed by a pair of dragon's teeth. The run time at high speed was under a minute, and the ECM lashed their sensors, blasting their radars back, counter missiles flailing as they used their thrusters to turn so their broadside could bear. A salvo of missiles came back at them, and even a tight formation couldn't protect them all. Stacey flinched as her screen blanked, then came up with LAC #3, meaning she had just been 'killed' twice. Four of the LACs, two of the leaders and one each from the upper and lower lines further back were just gone.

"Coming up on target two." Weapons reported as their broadside hit battlecruiser #1. only four of the missiles had died, and 150 attack missiles pounded the ship, most hitting down her throat, though others hit from all around her. They were 'only' missiles that a prewar destroyer would carry, but there were a lot of them. The wedge came up for a moment, then the forward impeller room shut down catastrophically. Her second salvo chased after the survivors, decoys lancing back to decoy them.

"Same drill at target two, flush them all." This time 288 missiles shot out. Number #2 had her wedge up, and her counter missiles leaped out. These were running on reduced speed because she was over 3 million kilometers away; 90 seconds at 490KPS. The first return salvo took 129 seconds to catch them, and ripped into the newly reformed wall. Stacey was down to only three LACs. The third salvo caught them at just under 4 million kilometers, and her screen went blank, and stayed blank.

"I'm sorry, guys. I blew it." Stacey said.

"Can't win them all, skip." Cartier commented.

Stacey hit the annunciator. "Huggins."

"We died, ma'am."

"So? You killed a battlecruiser, and seriously damaged another."

"Killed one?"

"The second battlecruiser. You got a golden BB on her. Fusion plant hit just aft of her forward hammerhead. Your LACs died, but the enemy now has one operational battlecruiser, one mission killed, and the attack you were setting up would have had a free run. As we told you when we gave all of you this second scenario, surviving is incidental if you decoy the inner squadron. I'd say you completed your mission. I'm sending in drinks and sandwiches for your crew. The last competition is about to begin. Give me a moment while you eat."

The entry hatch opened, and her crew, tired after almost 12 hours straight cheered. Stacey took two cattleope sandwiches slathered with mustard and french fries with tea as her portion, munching happily. She finished, handing the tray to the maintenance crew personnel as they went back out. She was wondering why they seemed so cheerful. Thirty minutes after the meal, Huggins appeared on screen. "This is a full squadron evolution except for myself. Everyone except for you, Stacey, and you, Edward, are in prifly for the briefing. Let's begin."

The screen lit up with a tactical display; six LACs in line abreast, their direction and rate of advance clearly marked. Forward of them were four Manticoran light cruisers led by a 1.5 megaton frieghter at the moment all in line ahead. Beyond them about another twenty million kilometers was a swarm of missiles marked 'MK23s launched from HMS Witch Maiden launched 90 sec ago; 500'. Aft of the LACs at 10 million kilometers closing at a mere 40gs were four SDs marked 'SD(P)' escorted by four battlecruisers, four heavy cruisers, and six destroyers by type in a diamond formation separated by a million kilometers so that they would envelope the fleeing squadron in about 20 minutes.

"This will be a full squadron exercise in support of our two contestants. _Shrew _will be supported by three Shrikes commanded by _Panther_ as in the real battle, and two Katana consisting of _Gabriel_ and _Succubus_. _Weasel_ will be supported by three Shrikes consisting of _Legate Fubuki_ and _Sabretooth_, with two Katanas commanded by _Michael. _Your mission is twofold; first, protect the inner squadron from attack. Second, send midcourse corrections to the salvoes fired by _Witch Maiden _which will be coming at 30 second intervals.

"We're assuming the same ships and situation we faced in Capwell. That means 1104 missiles in the first salvo, 370 in each following salvo. The maximum reload speed of the Sollie tubes is 13 seconds for the battle cruisers, but 25 for the SDs, so one new salvo every 25 seconds unless they go to rapid fire. They will spot your LACs before their third salvo is fired, so they may target your LACs as targets of opportunity from that point on. Anything that misses you can still be redirected against the cruisers, so you must keep protecting the cruisers.

"Senior officers for this evolution are Lieutenants Quintain and Watson. Your mission is to protect the insystem squadron at all costs. Before you ask people, Abe commanding _Gabriel_ and Edward with _Weasel_ were the only ships that survived this mission, and they are facing the same situation again. They will not answer questions, and the records of the action have been sealed by me, so if you haven't read the reports, you're coming at this fresh.

"Last note. You will notice that there is only one Ferret in each unit. If the Ferret is destroyed during the mission, the sim ends. We're down to the last LAC competition, and all of the five who are going into it face the same situation.

"Questions?"

"Once they target us, we're screwed." Quintain commented.

"Survival of the cruisers and their collier was our primary mission then, and the same is true here, Lieutenant. Remember that. Our point defense and missile loadout was optimized for that mission; half decoys and EW birds, the rest Vipers and Mk31 counter missiles except for the Katanas that are full up Vipers. Three of the birds on this mission survived the battle. Sometimes you have to put your life on the line for the mission, or didn't you learn that at Saganami Island?"

"We can't control-"

"Mister Quintain, in the real battle, using frequency rotation, we did. Any more cogent questions?" She looked around. "Then man your birds. Ed, Stace, a word in private, please." Huggins waited, then sighed. "Ed, I've loaded it against you, I'm sorry. But I can't put Windom in charge with Quintain in the mix. Hopefully, between the Hamish and Mordechai, they can rein him in."

"I understand, skipper." Mikishima said. "You expect him to act up?"

"Little pitchers." She replied, eyes cutting to Stacey.

"I understand I got the more experienced team, ma'am." Stacey replied. "But is it fair to Lieutenant Mikishima?"

"Don't worry, Stace." Mikishima replied. "She balanced it as well as our squadron could be. She gave you people who studied the battle afterward who know what really happened for you, and gave me the newbies who might flinch. Since I fought it, I'm not bothered as much by my team because except for one," He didn't mention the name, "Who might think he's smarter than I am. I'll deal with it."

"With all due respect, that doesn't make it fair." Stacey replied.

The squadron commander looked at her for a long moment. "Stace, you've done well so far. Sometimes you have to take the good with the bad. We need to train our own squadron, and this; teams of six, is the best one for us. All I have done is give you a crew that knows what they're doing. In a comparison between your level of training and Ed's this really balances you both out. It also pits those with the most to learn against you.

"He doesn't think it is unfair. Neither do I. So accept it." Stacey merely nodded. Huggins nodded. " We start in five minutes." The screen went back to the frozen sim.

All right, Mikka," she looked at the com station, "Since we won't be doing a lot of talking, I want you to find the frequency agile system they used during that battle. Direct the missiles as they come by."

"Got it, skip." Chief Atkins said, leaning over the console.

She remembered the reports, as part of her 'throw her into the pool' training. All of the Shrikes on this mission died, then they had to stop two ships that left Capwell Station. She was willing to bet that would be part of it too. The Squadron Comander's ship had been mission killed doing looked at the Shrikes. Her Shrikes were labeled _Reaper, __Vampire_ and _Lillian_. She remembered when those names fought, and her blood ran cold. All of those Shrikes had-

Suddenly there was a tone bleeping, then the ship came to life with the thrum of her wedge.

"Multiple missile launch at the cruisers. Extimated one thousand plus, rate of advance 465 KPS." Status change! Enemy formation has increased speed. Now at 385gs, just under 4 kilometer per second."

Stacey's mind closed on the problem. It was the geometry of the attack that determined their response. It was a stern chase, and the enemy missiles were near the edge of their perfomance envelope. They would have only a few seconds of time left on their drives, though their ships speed had increased from an overtake of 40gs to almost a hundred, the difference between the maximum 80% of the SDs and the limited drive of the collier. That meant by the fourth salvo, they would have almost half a minute remaining on their clocks. Her own attack envelope for the Mk31s was just under 3.5 million to start. Against the LACs of course, they could shift to full powered second stages, though any misses would be wasted since they could not attack the cruiser line.

"Helm, stand us on our toes! Sandie, engage as you bear. Amy, decoys and EW, now! Replace as needed!"

The LACs arched upward Two missiles came from each, sweeping through the area of the off bore sighting up and around to charge back. On the enemy screens, there were six cruisers coming down their throats now as the EW birds sang to try to draw missiles off. The raid count dropped below a thousand, then below 900 as they did their work, others plunging to attack the 'cruisers' that had suddenly appeared. Then the counter missiles began to go out, ripping into the wave of death. Almost a minute later the point defense clusters began picking them off. Almost 300 burst past them.

"All ships, Vipers now!" The ships rolled back to follow their charges, and each went to rapid fire as the cruisers also began to fire. The level of missiles in the magazine dropped like sand in an hourglass, but a mere thirty missiles reached the range of the now ravening point defense lasers of the cruisers.

The Mk23s from _Witch Maiden _shot past the cruisers, and Atkins began her own dance, blowing the dust shrouds, and giving the missiles their target paint. At the same time, salvo two was bearing down, still aimed at the cruisers. New decoys deployed, this time appearing as unnamed contacts half a million kilometers closer than her own fragile line was. The newly set EW drones began trolling, using all of the data flowing to her boats from the cruisers. With enemy ECM being monitored through out the engagement, on top of what was already known about Halo and Aegis, the second salvo- only 370 missiles - lost some as their target locks homed on the decoys or merely lost interest. Less than 200 were engaged by the LACs, and barely a hundred were engaged from behind as they passed. Stacey was counting seconds. Over fifty seconds had passed with no additional-

"Targeting change! One five zero missiles aimed at us!"

"We're tapped." Panther reported. "No more offensive rounds; eight decoys. Down to twenty counter-missiles."

Her own ship and the Katanas were slightly better off; Instead of an initial 20 full missiles and a hundred counter-missiles, her own ship had started with over fifty and one hundred fifty CM. _Shrew_ still had nine decoys and fifty counter-missiles remaining. The Katanas had started with over fifty Vipers and had almost 100 counter-missiles remaining.

"The rest?"

"Still aimed at the cruisers."

"We can't let them past!"

"Max Shrikes, use them, or lose them!" HMSLAC _Panther_ pretending to be _Reaper_ ordered. Suddenly the EW screen exploded from twelve to over thirty as each of the Shrikes punched out their remaining EW and decoy drones. As the comber of hell approached, the decoys and EW drone sucked in most of the missiles aimed at the cruisers, but those other missiles aimed at her squadron were not drawn away. Suddenly the Shrikes stood on their toes, gleaming like newly caught salmon strengthening their blips.

The enemy seemed to be irresistably drawn to them, and Stacey screamed as _Reaper_ drew a dozen missiles and was suddenly gone. _Vampire_ was attacked by five missiles, and couldn't protect everywhere as she died, and Stacey wanted to sceam again as _Lillian_also blew up.

And yet another salvo was inbound. Only about 120 targeted at the LACs, because now a SD had suddenly disappeared. She looked at the plot, only two SDs remained. She had not even see the first one die!

Her magazine ran dry, then the Katanas, and they watched as the remainder of the salvo closed. A third SD died, then suddenly the incoming missiles exploded as one barely half a million kilometers away. Stacey felt like a used dishrag. They'd survived! "Message from Witch Maiden via FTL." Mikka reported.

"All insystem LACs, head toward Capwell station. There are two ships there we need to stop; a Mesan dispatch boat, and a Jessyk freighter. I want prisoners, people." Captain Duvalier's voice came loud and clear.

"Helm, set course and speed."

"_Succubus_, take the freighter. _Shrew_, the dispatch boat."

"Acknowledged." The trio went to their full stealthed capability of 500gs. A blip was centered on the edge of the station, her target. Helm?"

"We'll accelerate thirty minutes, and begin decelerating at full capability in thirty-one. Zero-zero in four eight minutes." Carstairs reported.

The tension rose. _Gabriel_ had changed places with _Shrew_, putting her on the flank of the formation. The diminished squadron flipped going to almost 900gs as they began to decelerate.

"Status change! Target detaching from station on thrusters!"

"When will she be clear enough to bring up her wedge?" Stacey asked.

"Five minutes."

"Time to intercept?"

"Eight."

"We're close enough to use our point defense to chop her up." her weapons officer reported.

Stacey considered. The skipper had the same situation, and had the same thoughts. Using their point defense against something the size of the freighter was one thing, against the dispatch boat another. The freighter was over a megaton, large enough to take multiple hits compared to the unarmored boat. But the dispatch boat was a lot smaller, barely twice her own tonnage, and her interior unlike a freighter was crammed with impellers, fusion plant, and hyper generator. While lighter than the main guns of the Katanas which were equal to a prewar destroyer, the point defense lasers of a Ferret were heavier than a pinnace carried, and even a pinnace would be leery of firing into such a ship unless they wanted to kill it. Was that what Lieutenant Huggins had considered? That using her wedge was the more efficient option, even if it meant she died as she almost had?

"Reverse course, full emergency acceleration!" Helm, bring us past her stern, use the edge of our wedge to slice her."

"Reverse course, full acceleration." Carstairs repeated. "Time to intercept four minutes." She paused. "Skipper, if she has already brought up her impellers, it'll blow us to hell along with blowing her impeller room."

"Understood. Got any better ideas?"

"You're only asking now?" There was a ripple of laughter.

The kamikaze bored in. The dispatch boat fired her thrusters, trying to evade, but Carstairs changed course minutely. "Impact in three, two, one-" There was a flash, and the screens went blank.

"Well, _Azrael_ was blown up too." Stacey sighed. "I wonder how badly we did?"

"Message from the Skipper, skip." Mikka giggled a bit at having the 'skipper' talk to the skipper. It broke the tension and suddenly everyone was laughing.

"Put it through, Mikka." Stacey finally said. The main screen came up.

"What are you all waiting for?" Huggins asked severely."

"To find out how we did, ma'am."

"You didn't die, if that's what you mean." Huggins slowly smiled. "When I did that I flipped at the last minute to decelerate. That means you came across her stern about five seconds sooner than I did. The impellers were still warming up instead of hot, so your wedge didn't destabilize. Enemy casualties were only four instead of the eight I inflicted. What else did you need to know?"

"The competition. How did we do?"

"Crack your hatch and come out if you want to know." The screen went blank again.

"That does not bode well." Stacey commented.

"Maybe not, skip. But I think you're coming along well." Carstairs commented, shutting down her board. "Besides, we can't hide in here forever."

**Results**

The crew of _Shrew_ came down the ramp into a shouting match. They ran from the bay into the passageway beyond where some of the crew from _Weasel_ were restraining their commander. Facing him left alone by his own crew was Quintain. "I completed the mission as instructed!"

"You took the easy way, that's all, you sanctimonious-"

"You're speaking to a superior officer!"

"You just have more time in grade!" Mikishima roared. "The kids who washed out at Harmon were better officers than you are! At least they admitted they couldn't do it!"

"What happened?" Stacey asked someone, Reese from _Panther_.

"When they went in to stop the ships from departing, only _Weasel_ and _Legate_ were still alive. Quintain ordered _Weasel_ to stop the freighter, which he did just like last time. But _Legate_ came in too slow, and when the dispatch boat-"

"I will not have a rating and a snotty decide they can critique my actions!" Quintain rounded on the pair.

"The skipper pulled it off because she had guts, Quintain!"

"The stupid bitch got half of her crew killed in the process!"

"What did you call the skipper?" Mikishima was really fighting to throw himself forward now.

"Yes." Everyone fell silent as Huggins walked in. "I would really like to hear that again." She walked through the crowd to stand between the two men.

"I think I could do with a repeat as well." Every eyes turned as Captain Duvalier walked through to join her LAC squadron commander.

The tense tableau froze. Huggins looked at Mikishima. "Chill out, lieutenant." Then she turned to Quintain. "Lieutenant, you went into the battle with six LACs. You got HMS _Hel_ and the collier killed because you refused to launch EW drones and decoys when the first salvo came in, and screamed at those who did as they were supposed to do.

"You used your Shrikes as human shields to protect your ship, then got both Katana killed doing the same with the one salvo that did target the LACs. Finally instead of closing and using your point defense to disable the dispatch boat, you put a main battery graser through her." She stared coldy at the man. "If, if mind you, you had gone for them, I could have judged that the destruction of that vessel was accidental. However all you did was get over 60% of your crews slaughtered to fail, because while accidental destruction would have been acceptable, you used a 20 kilo hammer and lost the match for your team."

She looked the others over. "Everyone else, well done. Of the five teams competing, two lost when their Ferrets were killed by that one salvo. One other killed the dispatch boat also, and lost. Instead of a tie, however, our hammer fanatic gave the victory to _Shrew_."

"I'm sorry, sir. I wanted to win. But this just makes me sick." Stacey started crying.

"Hey, stop that. It's not you who lost it." Mikishima glared at Quintain.

"And since Stacey is now officially our newest commander-"

"I'm what?" Stacey looked up in shock.

"Of course you are. You should have realized that when you saw your Ferret's nose art." Duvalier commented.

Stacey stared at her, then turned, running back into the bay. She stopped, looking up at the nose of F4. The simple logo was gone. In it's place was an Eagle pouncing on a Shrew dressed in a Confederate Uniform. The shrew was proudly displaying the Sidemore flag, which consisted of what would have been a Confederate battle standard based on the Union Jack with the stars replaced by miniatures of the flags of every nation and conflict the SCA reenacted. Behind it's back was a sword almost as tall as it was. The motto read; THAT'S RIGHT, COME DOWN HERE WHERE I CAN KILL YOU!

She turned, and except for Quintain, every eye was on her. The captain walked forward, and Stacey shook the outstretched hand, still in shock. Huggins looked at Quintain, lips thinning. "As for you, lieutenant, remember that a Squadron is a team. Your success, your life is in the hands of the stupid people and bitches around you." She walked over until she was nose to nose. "Especially in the hands of this one. Now get out of my sight and from now on work with the team, or I'll replace you."

"With who?" Quintain blustered.

"Midshipman Krueger would probably do a better job. At least he'd work with his team, not against them. Dismissed." She turned on her heel, and strode out followed by everyone but the one pariah.


	11. Game Day FInal

Sorry for the delay in posting; other stories demanded their fair share of my time.

**Game Day final**

When it came down to the last three competitions, it got weird. The fencing could have been a dozen teams, since the four Sidemoran ships could have fielded two teams each. But they had agreed to limit themselves, combining teams ruthlessly so that they only supplied two teams, making eight for the finals. The Coup was merely four as _Witch Maiden_ delivered two, and the other _Witches_ one each. Kendo was again profligate, as each Sidemoran ship delivered one, Witch Maiden two, Manhattan one, and each of the other Witches one, meaning nine, but the Sidemoran ships again combined ruthlessly, and sent three teams instead. They joked that whichever team of theirs won, all of the ships were represented.

Sidemore took fencing with _Shelby_ taking the honors. With four of her competitors all with between three and eight knots in their belts, _Witch Bride_ took the Coup. That left kendo.

There were enough coaches to have the required three judges, and the first elminations were brisk. Two of the Sidemore teams, _Witch Bride_ and _Manhattan_ were eliminated. In the second _Witch Queen_ and the last Sidemore team were defeated. That left both teams from_Witch Maiden_.

Competition kendo techniques are comprised of both strikes and thrusts. Strikes are only made towards specified target areas on the wrists, head, or body, all of which are protected by armor. The targets are the men, sayu-men or yoko-men (downward straigh cut, or against the upper left or right side of the helmet), the wrists or kote, the right kote at any time, the left kote when it is in a raised position, and the left or right side of the dō. or breastplate. Additional armor called tare consisting of three thick vertical fabric flaps or faulds protect the waist and groin which is not a legitimate target.

Thrusts are only allowed to the throat on the armor flaps called tsuki dare though slashes are allowed on the flaps called men dare that cover the neck and shoulders. Since an incorrectly performed thrust can cause serious injury to the opponent's neck, thrusting techniques in competition are often restricted to senior dan graded kendōka, though that wasn't a problem; the two junior people, Ensign Phiratcha Konagawa of the _Witch Maiden's_ com section and Lieutenant Claude Javert of the Republic contingent aboard were both 5th dan, with the Klumbach-Dollaryde twins both 8th Dan.

The captains, Mordechai Rubens and Commander Duval came out, already dressed in kendogi (Jacket) and hakama (Wide pants) beneath their bōgu (Armor) and bowed before they shook hands. Then they stepped back to join their teams To assure no links to the past, the Republican team was in white, and the Witch's in red so no one would link the hated State Security with their former homeland.

The Vanguards; the lead fighters folded their tenugui into cloth hats that cushioned the men, or helmet. Cao Mei had been chosen as Vanguard, and she pulled on her gloves, picking up her Shinai. Her opponent Patricia Keeler, a woman fifteen centimeters taller with bright red hair and cat-green eyes slid on her helmet, came forward, and both knelt at their positions. Then they stood at the ready.

"Begin!" Cao Mey had sparred with the woman before, all of them had. Keeler liked to push hard, and she blocked immediately as Keeler tried to strike her head. She struck back herself, both left then right, then as Keeler went for another head strike, Cao Mei cut in, chopping down on the glove on the woman's left hand.

"Hidari-kote!" a judge called, raising the red flag. He was mimicked by another judge. Keeler backed away, and they resumed their start positions.

Cao Mei considered. Keeler's biggest problem was her temper. She would get frustrated, and when she did she'd begin flailing around. "Begin!"

Cao mei blocked a strike at the side of her head, then another. She backed in a sprial, merely blocking, but forcing Keeler to shift constantly to attack. After about fifteen failed attempts Keeler began flailing at the opposite sides of her head with each strike. She was forced to back away by the pressure. Then she saw an opening, knew it was a ruse, and raised her sword as if going for it. Keeler gave a scream of triumph, raising her sword again, and Cao Mei cut right, her blade slapping into the side of Keeler's helmet a split second before Keeler's smashed down on her helmet, driving her to her knees.

"Sho-men!" The judges called. Keeler backed, removing her helmet. Though she had gotten a good hit, Cao Mei's had beaten her by almost three tenths of a second. Cao Mei removed her helmet, bowing, and they returned to the lines of waiting teammates.

Chin Li finished his tenugui. He was the Deputy Vanguard, facing Michel Le Clerc. They both walked forward, kneeling and putting on their helmets. Then faced each other as they stood. "Begin!"

Michel stood, waiting. Rubens groaned. Krueger tended tp be impetuous. He moved forward, sword coming up. At the same instant, Michel dropped forward, thrusting. The sword struck his tsuki-dare, driving Krueger off his feet. "Tsuki-bu!"

Chin sat up, gasping. Rubens ran forward, kneeling beside the boy, removing his helmet. "How are you?"

"Hurts." He gasped.

"Can you go on?" Chin nodded, but began coughing. Rubens went to the judges. There was a brief discussion. He turned. "Forfeit."

The Center, Ensign Phiratcha Konagawa put on her Men, moving forward. Her almond eyes were cool as she faced off against Duval. They stood for several seconds, their shinai barely moving. Then they came together. Both were power fighters, slashing attacks meeting parries. Both struck and hit within a tenth of a second of each other, with Duval' cut at her wrist barely beating hers at the side of his head.

They stepped back, and on command came at each other again. The crowd watched as it went on and on, neither able to get past the other's guard. "Time!" They stepped back at the mandatory five minute break, kneeling again to face each other as they removed their helmets to gasp. Duval grinned, winking, and a slow smile spread across Phiratcha's face.

"Prepare!" They slipped their helmets back on, standing at the ready. "Begin!"

They came together, strikes moving like lightning. But again, neither could find an opening. "Time!" came the shout three minutes later. The judges huddled. Then the match was called as a win for the Republic.

The team captain Mordechai Rubens came forward as deputy commander, facing petty officer Chartaine. While the largest of the Republican team, the man moved like oiled steel, and Rubens had decided to face him personally. The bout, ended in a tie; Chartaine was a master at defense, and knew his limitations. He was able to avoid every strike, but was unable to score himself.

"Fengniao!" The woman began shaping her tenugui. She was starting out at a disadvantage though. The team stood at one win, two losses, and a tie. She put on her helmet and came forward.

Javert stood, and they faced off. Begin!"

Fengniao raised her sword, charging forward. Javert dropped, his blade shooting out in a thrust as she dropped her blade, blocked him aside, and came over it to smash her own into his head. "Sho-men!"

She stepped back. He was a bit faster than Keeler. They stood engarde, her blade at middle, his at low. He seemed to think he was weaker than her. No, she grinned, her own blade dropping to low.

Begin!" Javert struck toward her right side, and she blocked it, both slamming their blades in a pas et duex too fast for the eye to follow. Then Javert made a downward cut toward her head, and Fengniao stepped back, dropping low, and her thrust took him in the throat. He had been moving forward, and between them, the force of the impact was enough to flip him over to slam on his back as if he had been clotheslined.

"Tsuki-bu!" Fengniao retreated as Javert was helped to his feet, then returned to her team. The judges conferred, then one stepped forward holding a mike. "The captain has told us we must hurry if we are to celebrate this competition before we depart. This match has been declared a draw." He raised his hands as their a frustrated roar from the crowd. "Both teams are on the same ship, and can have a second bout at any time before we arrive in the Congo system. We promise to record the bout and winner for the squadron."

While not happy, the audience applauded.

**Embarrassment**

Rebecca had been a bit worried how the crews would take the announcement,but it seemed to be all right. She stood as did the rest of the audience as crews came to break down the bleachers. She noticed the Sidemore captains in a huddle, then Kelly came over to her. "Your ancestors came from what was called Scotland on Old Earth, correct?"

"Yes, captain. There have been Duvaliers in Scotland since the Reign of Terror after the French Revolution. Several dozen families from there relocated to Sphinx and Manticore." She looked proud. "We were among the first colonists to settle on Gryphon in the early 16th century PD."

"I thought so." Kelly nodded. Rebecca noticed an odd glint in his eye. "Are you up on the ancient Scots proverbs?" She nodded, and the glint became a gleam. "Good. We'll see you at the party."

She was still wondering what that was all about when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Oscelli was standing there with a garment bag. "You just have time to change, Ma'am."

"Change? Into what?"

"The captains of the Sidemore ships asked me about your lineage." He motioned to the screened off area the competitors had used to change into their assorted sports gear. Rebecca walked alongside him into one of them. "They also asked if you remembered old proverbs."

She looked at him coolly. "What is going on, Os." He unzipped the bag, and she shook her head. "I am not going to wear that. For God's sake, that's mess dress, and I didn't tell anyone it was required!"

'The Sidemorans commented that 'if you call the tune, you have to pay the piper."

"When did I call the damn tune?"

"When the pipers were playing and you shouted-"

"Scotland the Brave." she finished, sighing. Then her eyes widened as he moved the tunic out of the way, and she saw the rest of it. "It's a conspiracy." She growled. "You're all conspiring to make me look like an idiot!"

"Conspiracy is such an ugly word, Ma'am. We see it as an agreement for our mutual enjoyment."

"At least someone will get to enjoy it." She replied darkly. "I won't be among you." She sighed again. "All right, let's get this over with."

**An historical discussion**

"I wonder where the captain is." Jinhua murmured. She and Fenghua had come dressed for the occasion, and had drawn a lot of eyes. One effect of Honor Harrignton becoming both Steadholder and Duchess had been a revolution in the fashions worn. Women in the Star Kingdom, now Star Empire, had been dressing both comfortably and fashionably in slacks and doublets until Harrington introduced the clothing of Grayson, but altered to showcase a tall statuesque woman as she was. Grayson's female fashions had been heavily into brocades and voluminous skirts, and the Graysons had pretty much not changed it in over a thousand years. Harrington had ruthlessly traded on the fact that she was not only a Steadholder, but a woman as well, and had used fabrics and cuts to set fashion instead. Her mother Allison had followed with clothing more appropriate to Beowulf to blindside the Manticoran people.

No brocades, rather more modern fabrics in jewel tones and natural colors. Harrington had kept the skirts (Didn't want to give the entire male population of her second home planet attacks, did she?) but converted them into it, one skirt that brushed her ankles, and as close to form fitting yet flowing as possible. One Manticoran designer had scornfully called it 'caveman retro'. But it is a fact of human society that a lot of fashion trends begin when celebrities wear something they like, and people ape them.

It gives a whole new meaning to the ancient story of the Emperor's New Clothes.

In the Anderman Empire, the Quipao, or what they would have called a chengosam back on Old Earth had never really gone out of fashion, so the Sapphire blue of Jinhua's outfit set off the Cerulean blue of her daughter's matching outfit. Both had the Sedlow Family crest on the breast over their hearts, and the few retainers were dressed in similar outfits.

"Mutti?" Fenghua pointed, and Jinhua turned. As someone raised to eventually be a noblewoman of her nation, her jaw did not drop in amazement. Nor did she burst into giggles at the sight.

Captain Duvalier had stepped from a curtained enclosure. She wore the short jacket of Manticoran Navy mess dress, medals gleaming, braid bright as gold. However beneath the jacket she wore a white ruffled blouse with lace at the throat and wrists. Below the jacket, she wore a Scots Great kilt in Duvalier tartan, with the end looped over her right shoulder so her decorations were not concealed, knee socks in the same sett with a Skean Dub in the right stocking, and flat shoes with tassles.

The basis of any tartan is a simple two-color check to which the designer adds over-checks, bands and stripes in contrasting colours. These are arranged to result in a balanced and harmonious pattern. Where two stripes of the same color cross, a block of solid color is formed. Where different colors cross, the two colors are mixed in equal proportions to create a new color. Ideally, neither colour should 'swamp' the other. The two together should make a new intermediate shade.

The Duvalier tartan was the green of spring oak leaves, countered by the maroon of oak leaves before they bleach, with the bronze of autumn leaves before they fall as bordering around the checks.

There was a sudden spread of silence through the crowd as the people turned to witness her sartorial statement. Then suddenly there was a wild cheer followed by applause.

Rebecca walked toward where the captains of her squadron stood. "Satisfied, Captain Kelly?" she asked.

"More than you can imagine, Captain Duvalier." He held out a glass of wine, and she took it.

She turned to the crowd. "To all of our competitiors, I give a toast. May we fight only on the competiton floor, and save our hate for those that deserve it!" The crowd raised their glasses, and while there was happiness in their answering shout, there was anger as well for the ones who had pitted them against each other for so long.

Kelly, resplendent in the long dress uniform frock coat of the ancient Confederate army motioned. "Captain Duvalier, may I present my fellow captains. Sonya Campbell of _Shelby_.," The tall titian redheaded woman, dressed in a short jacket and wearing a kilt in Campbell tartan, bowed. "Her ship is nickname Jo. Micah Dwyer, captain of _Forrest_. Nicknamed Buford." The stout man bowed. His hair was prematurely gray, and his eyes were those of a predatory bird. "Samuel Koshigami, captain of _Lee_, her nickname is Fitz." Koshigami was a dark man with hazel almond eyes, and a wicked grin."

"And what is your ship's nickname, Captain?" Rebecca asked.

"Rafe."

Jinhua walked over to her and the captains, and was greeted by them. "Captain Kelly, what confused we in the Empire was your nation's decision to become a member of Manticore's alliance only after the Solarians attacked them in Spindle-."

"Manticore saved us from Warnecke." Koshigami said. " Captain Harrington could have left him in charge rather than find a way to get him off our planet, and she did. After she did, they didn't just blow him and his men to hell, and say adios. She suggested using us as a base."

"And Sonya's uncle is in our State department." Kelly commented. He motioned.

"We've had... feelers from the League." She said. "They're suggesting that changing sides, ordering Manticore out of our system will keep them from deciding to consider us an enemy as well." She sipped her drink, and shrugged. "They already intend to grab Silesia as soon as they've put Manticore down, just to save them from the 'horrible occupiers'. But there are rumbles about other things, and it means they are lying through their pearly whites. Warnecke was selling the goods pirated in Silesia inside the League. One thing he did right before the Manticorans arrived was clear cut five hundred acres of our local post oak."

Rebecca remembered seeing just the edge of the Post Oak Forest during her time on the Sidemore Station. It resembled the tree of the same name in North America, but unlike that small tree; which averaged 10-15 meters in height and had a bole that was 30 to fifty centimeters in diameter, the full grown Sidemore tree stood a hundred meters tall, with a bole between one and five meters thick. When humans had first settled there, it had covered the central portions of three of Sidemore's continents in massive forests, each a thousand kilometers or more across and wide. The wood was a dense hardwood with a beautiful grain that was as unique to the tree it came from as a snowflake.

"Ah, the Emperor has a furniture set made from your Sidemore post oak." Jinhua looked around the group. "Seventeen pieces of furniture from a nine piece bedroom set and wardrobe, to a dining table and six chairs. All made from one tree. But the Silesian trader that brought it to our attention was unwilling to tell us where he had obtained it. When we found out where the wood came from, the Empire signed an agreement for half of their yearly production for the next fifty years. That would be what, almost a thousand trees he had stolen?"

"Closer to 1100. We only cut and sell about fifty trees a year because our population is still very small. We don't _need_ more than the acreage cleared that desperately. Besides, the trees only flower and breed every five local years, and it takes five local centuries, almost 750 T-years for it to grow back to that size from an acorn. That production had been sold primarily in Silesia, though it was also marketed in the Anderman Empire and recently in Manticore.

"But after that illegal supply stopped, we had a visit from Salkind trading of Earth. They obtained the lumber Warnecke sold in an auction after the recievers were convicted. Unfortunately the auction house also published where it had come from. Fifty acres worth of it merely whet their appetite. They want more, try fifty acres worth a year. We love our trees, and cutting enough to satisfy them will only increase the amount they want. Salkind has a bad record of dealing with the OFS in the Fringe and Shell. We estimated it would take them less than eighteen T-months to get OFS involved." Shr shrugged. "We were wrong. Less than a T-year after we signed the initial basing agreement with Manticore the first offer came.

"So once Manticore goes down, we're next, all for the sake of greed." She gave a sad smile. "Having a love of history as we all do back home, we remember what happened to the Giant Sequoia when the old United States of North America removed that forest from their National Park Service's protection. The only survivors of it were a few dozen declared monument trees right before the Diaspora. We're not letting it happen on our world."

Jinhua nodded." I also wondered about the names of the ships you're sending to the people of Torch. How are they going to react when they find out they are named after men who fought for a nation that supported chattel slavery?"

"Now wait a minute!" Dwyer protested. "Admittedly the richest one percent of the old Confederacy were slave owners, but even if it had become a part of their constitution, the Boll Weevil would have ended the practice only about half a T-century later!"

"Oh god, you got him started." Kelly laughed. "Next he'll be bringing up the Litchenberg documents found in 5 AD."

"Thank you, Duane. The Litchenberg documents clearly showed that the North intentionally pushed the South into that war..."

**Rememberance**

"Come on, Francis, sing." One of the Sidemoran ratings begged. His medal for Fencing swung. The crowd, made up of people from every ship, also pressed him.

Dollaryde waved his arms. "All right. I learned this from our Sidemore contingent. It's dedicated to all of our people from the Republic and Manticore. It's based on an actual incident in 1914CE where the soldiers on both sides of a section almost seven kilometer long of what was called the Western Front decided that Christmas was a time of peace, not killing. They refused orders on most of that frontage for almost two weeks." He waved to the midshiman at the piano. "Christmas in the Trenches." Midshipwoman Jessica Riyal played the into riff, the Minstrell boy, and Dollaryde faced his audience.

"My name is Francis Tolliver. I come from Liverpool.

Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.

To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here,

I fought for King and country I love dear.

It was Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung.

The frozen field of France were still, no Christmas song was sung.

Our families back in England were toasting us that day,

their brave and glorious lads so far away."

As generations of Sidemorans had before them, the audience fell silent. In the crowd, Manticoran and Republic personnel looked at each other as that tale of sharing first songs, then gifts with pictures from home examined and praised, then, as today, sports with their enemies unfolded.

"Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more.

With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war.

But the question haunted every heart that lived that wonderous night

"whose family have I fixed within my sights?"

It was Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung.

The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung.

For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war

had been crumbled and were gone for ever more.

My name is Francis Tolliver. In Liverpool I dwell.

Each Christmas come since World War One I've learned it's lessons well.

That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame

and on each end of the rifle we're the same."

The people looked at each other as the last music, again the Minstrel boy, played sadly. The clumps of what had at first been different sides in this last war had moved closer, and now were mingled. Duval was the first to react, his arm going around Phiratcha's shoulders. Instead of pulling back, she returned the embrace.

For one group of people at least, the war had ended forever.

**Prohibition Strikes Again**

After singing the Minstrel boy, then a sadder song named 'And the Band Played Waltzing Madila', Dollaryde begged off. He had two hours before his shift in Fusion One, and wanted to check the brewing. It should only be a week before it was ready to put in kegs.

The first warning he had that something was wrong was the sight of foam overflowing the beer vats. He ran over, and almost tripped over a bucket that lay there. He picked it, and smelled what remained. Cleaning solvent. He walked over to the first vat, and as he opened it he flinched back from the stench of the same solvent. With trepidation, he checked them one by one. Every vat had the same smell. Finally he checked the Schnapps still. It had also been fouled. Beside the smaller still a data pad lay.

**We'll keep this up until you stop**


	12. A Little Duvalier history

**A Little Duvalier history**

"Where is Fenghua?" Rebecca asked. She had found herself in what could only be called a story time rota; only coming by once a week.

Jinhua looked around. "She has taken an interest in your young man's treecat." She replied nodding toward a quiet corner. The girl was at a table with ensign Kyle, Daedalus sitting on it, and occasionally signing. "She will probably know more about your treecats than anyone else aboard by the time she gets home."

"So like her mother."

"Yes, in this at least. But she has a lot of her father in her." She looked sad. "He would have been so proud of her."

"I read up on your family enroute to here. So one of your ancestors was hanged?" Sonya Campbell asked.

Duvalier snorted. "Angus wasn't hanged, he was lynched."

"And I thought you came from a respectable family." Jinhua traded her empty glass for a full one.

"This from someone who got hammered and woke up half naked in my bed on our last cruise." Rebecca snorted again, then drained her glass and switched it for another.

"This I gotta hear." Kelly said.

"What, how I woke up with this Kodiak Max stealng all the covers?"

"Kodiak Max?" Dwyer asked.

"The premier predator of my home world. It stands 2 meters at the shoulder and seven in length. There's an old joke I can paraphrase to fit her; what do you do if you wake up to find a Kodiak Max in your bed, steaing all the covers? Answer, give him the pillow too, but don't wake him up to ask."

"If I want to hear about what someone was doing in the same bed, I'd ask Sonya about her last shore leave." The man grunted as his fellow captain hit him in the gut with her elbow.

"He means the lynching. We know the technical difference, but maybe it's different in Manticore?" Sonya asked.

"No, it still means an execution where there is no trial."

"How did it happen? And when?"

"My entire clan moved to the Manticore system in 1500 AD. We came because of the plague decimating the first settlers almost ten years earlier. Then the new arrivals got hit by the new mutated strain. Of the four hundred and sixty of us that came, seventy-five survived, We split up, about half staying on Manticore, the rest going to Sphinx. The city of Duvalier stands on the land we'd settled on Sphinx. But when Gryphon was opened up to settlement in 1510, those on Manticore all moved there. But the land situation was worse."

"How so?" Dwyer asked.

"When the original colony was started, it was a democracy. But the plague killed almost 90 percent of them. They didn't want to lose political control of their homeland, so before they asked for settlers, they rewrote their consitution, converting those surviving families into something like seventy-five percent of our present aristocracy. So we already had a lot of nobles who had bought the right of first refusal for land on Gryphon even before the first settlers actually moved there. This along with land grants that make what I've read about the Spanish ones during the age of Exploration on Old Earth look like modern housing lots in Landing today. The first two Grand dukes of Gryphon never even visited the planet, just adminsitered their holdings from afar. It wasn't until 1550 that the crown required all Gryphon 'nobles' to have their primary residence there.

"That meant you had a quarter of the planet in the hands of absentee landlords with both grants and credits to allow them to purchase more before anyone else, a quarter up for sale to the new settlers, the rest in crown lands, and all of the choice land belonged to the first two groups, or so they thought. When we arrived, instead of doing what a lot of the new settlers did, merely putting a pin in the map and saying, 'we'll live here', my ancestor actually checked it out from orbital maps and walked the land we later claimed.

"Patrick Michael Duvalier had been an architect on earth specializing in rustic homes; All natural building materials for insulation, that kind of thing. His branch of the family made a lot of money inside what is now the Solarian league designing the methods used on a number of newly settled planets in what used to be the Verge before the League annexed the Shell. He had actually been paid to relocate himself and his extended family by the crown. And almost two thirds of those who survived the plague had skills such as agronomy, forestry, quarrying and fishing that were also valuable enough to have the crown pay for their trips. So Patrick chose the vally now known as Oak Glen as his home, with the 100 square kilometers around it and the other twenty-five Manticoran resident survivors bought the land along the coast at Holy Loch and Glen Curtis.

"The crown still held title to the Crown Range back then, and had decided to divide it up between the seated nobles and the commoners, but access to some of the richest minerals were along our border, and the Duke of Novaya Baikal was hoping to grab those for himself. He was more incensed when Thomas Kirk Duvalier who owned the land in 1610 discovered the Gryphon Leviathan, which is used to manufacture medicines and cosmetics. So in the early 18th century when the population reached six million; the agreed level for the Crown Range to be divided up, he and a lot of the nobles got together to 'convince' land owners like Angus Ian Duvalier who was patriarch of the family to relocate."

"Sounds like the old stories about the westward expansion in North America." Koshigami commented. At the blank stares from Jinhua and Rebecca, he elaborated. "What they call the old west had entrepreneurs who tried to make people sell their lands, whether it was so the cattlemen could have grazing land, to sell to mining consortia for minerals, or because the railroad was going to pass through the area and needed to buy up the right of way."

"Exactly. He first tried to claim that the entire Duvalier clan had settled on the wrong claims, that ours were further south. It didn't stand up in court as much as he tried, because the records of our family and those on Manticore itself did not match the 'local' records they tried to use to prove his claim.

"So in 1718, Novaya Baikal sent men in to make problems; killng cattle and using paws from Kodiak Max attached to poles to claw the bodies to conceal the bullet holes, 'mysterious' fires and explosions to destroy facilities. Angus' son Ian was killed when his harvesting submarine was lost to 'causes unknown' then. Of course with the local constabulary and judiciary firmly under control of the Nobles, no real effort was made to discover the causes, or punish the guilty.

"Every time something happened, the Duke would 'graciously' offer to buy the land from him, But Angus was a typical Highlander, and as anyone knows, we Gryphon Highlanders tend to be determined-" She stopped speaking as Jinhua started to laugh, then converted it to a coughing fit. "Should I ask the doctor to look into that horrible cough, Graffin?"

Jinhua shook her head. "I was just thinking that 'determined' is such a bland word. You could have used stubborn, though I think 'pig-headed' 'hard-headed', thick-necked' or even-"

"To get back to my story without further digression?" Rebecca said reprovingly. "Then a 'hooligan gang' supposedly attacked Angus' home. Unjfortunately for them, Angus was there when it happened, and he led his hands out, armed literally for bear. The locals usually carried 13mm rifles because they might face a Kodiak Max, and nothing much smaller even slows them down. They shot down four aircars, killed seven men, and captured sixteen. The local constables showed up, already saying 'hooligans', to find that one of the dead men was Pyotyr, the son of the Duke."

"Christ. How did the local constables explain that?"

She laughed softly. "They didn't even try. They merely arrested Angus to 'question him' about the incident. Enroute to the capital, they were supposedly forced down in a small town by 'irate citizens' who dragged Angus out, and hung him for the 'murder'." She motioned to the Penannular that pinned down the shoulder piece of her kilt. Beneath the pin was a representation of a man hanging from a tree, with two angels pinning men down beneath the feet of the corpse.

"You all know the craze back in the last two centuries before the Diaspora; people having coats of arms made as if they were knights, or their descendants? Someone had jokingly asked the first generation of the Duvaliers of Gryphon if they were going to do the same, but no one even considered it. When my Grandfather became the First Baron Duvalier, he had this symbol commissioned with the last words of Angus before he died as our family motto. 'Justice will have it's day'. Sir Vladmyr Ushenko Duvalier, my grandfather, and his adoptive father Malcom, made sure to get even with Novaya Baikal, even if it was never recorded how." She grinned. "Let's just say the 10th Duke of Novaya Baikal and his son died under 'suspicious circumstances', and both my family and the Crown are the only ones to know why." Her grin became feral, then sad. "You know my Treecat name; Cat Like Joker? My father always said I inherited my sense of humor from Grandfather Vlad."

"It sounds like your people are at war with their own nobles." Sonya commented.

"There's a reason we Gryphon Highlanders have little use for ninety percent of our nobles. They give the term 'conservative' a bad name. If you ask most Gryphon nobles, Moses came down with the Eleven Commandments, not ten, and the second was 'God gave us these titles, and you are unworthy of notice'. They used to manage votes by accepting bribes from anyone and every one. Back in Roger the Second's time they had a referendum that wanted to set aside the 9th Amendment and take away all of the land held as a treecat sanctuary, as if we had treecats of our own to dispossess. Queen Samantha finally put and end to that, along with we Highlanders."

"Captain?" Jinhua chuckled as all five looked at her. "You might want to look at that."

Across the compartment a dozen Sidemorans were approaching where Stacy and the Republican LAC commanders were describing their own maneuvers during the competition. The two leaders were a pair of the drummers ticking off a marching pace, followed by four carrying banners for the Sidemore LAC carriers, the COLACs and three carrying of all things, hat boxes. Now the drums rolled as the formation stopped.

"Attention to orders!" The senior officer shouted. "As commander of Stainless Banner Wing and senior LAC commander of our attached CLACs, it is my great pleasure to award your proper ceremonial head gear for participation in these games. Lieutenant Petain!" The young man stood. "As senior officer, operating as the commander of Imperial Guard Cavalry squadron, we award you the helmet of that regiment."

The ancient design looked like a cross between a Greek helmet's horsehair crest and that worn by a Roman officer. Petain took it, and put it on, shaking hands solemnly.

"Lieutenant Montcalm, the 1er Regiment de Carabiniers has a distiguished record from Royal France until the Second World War on Earth. However we chose the headgear from the earlier period." This hat was a tall shako in what looked like bearskin. The younger man grinned as he put it on, and shook hands.

"Our greatest award goes to one of our own. For excellence in these games, and winning the competition, we have a special award." Stacy stood, and gasped as the largest hatbox was opened. With trembling hands, she took it out, holding the hat in her hands, and merely stared at it.

It looked like a wider brimmed version of the Sphinx Forestry Service 'bush' hat with the right side pinned up and back, but several plumes were attached to the left side of the hat band.

The officer stepped back. "You know as well as I do, Midshipwoman, on Sidemore only the Commandant of the LAC school wears that design of hat. One day, maybe you'll wear what it represents. You are allowed to wear this one with your dress uniform through this deployment, and keep it as a momento.

"And when this deployment is over, I will be asking that you be assigned to my wing." He looked at the other COLACs, "As have my peers. Atten-hutt!" All four of the COLACs snapped to attention, snapping off parade ground salutes. The girl looked confused, and looked toward where the Sidemore Captains stood. They also snapped to attention, and also saluted her. Rebecca joined them.

"You have to put on the hat and return our salute." the Spokesman stage whispered, causing chuckling. Stacy blushed furiously, put the hat firmly on her head, then snapped to attention and threw back a salute worthy of Saganami Island.

Rebecca watched the officers congratulating the girl, checking her watch. "And on that note everyone, we deploy in four hours. Let's be about it."

**Deployment**

Both the Phoenix Cluster and the Phoenix Wormhole Junction are actually misnomers. The 'Cluster' is just a trio of stars in comparatively close proximity in regard to standard spatial distances. The 'junction', unlike the Manticoran Wormhole, is two separate wormholes, again a lot closer together than occurs usually.

The Phoenix terminus of the Manticoran Junction was associated with the Hennesy System, and the Erewhon segment is near the Terra Haute System a little more than five days away for a warship, almost ten for a merchant conversion. Of course to the people in that ship, running at the Delta band equivalent of .75C, it is only about eight days subjective. Since junction transits were effectively instantaneous, it is the Hennesy-Terra Haute leg that accounts for virtually the entire length of the journey from Manticore to Erewhon.

The ships of the impromptu squadron practiced singly and as a unit for every contingency they could think of. The Republican members of the crew, divided up among the colliers/armed merchant cruisers worked alongside their new allies finding a way the tehcnology of the more modern navy could work with the Republic's slightly inferior methods; easier than it might sound, as the ships captured at Cerebus, along with those captured at the battle of Manticore gave the Alliance a leg up. By the same token, the Republic and it's previous incarnation had routinely found ways to intergrate captured technology into their systems.

They were sixteen and sometimes eighteen hour days, but the crews began to become not a bunch of people traveling together, but a well organized team. At least mostly.

Rebecca held up the tea pot as Diedre Hughes came in, and at the Exec's nod, poured as Os apeared like a Djin, delivered cookies snacks and sandwiches, then vanished without even a puff of smoke.

"Any problems, Number One?" She asked as Irene stole a wedge of Camambert.

"One I didn't anticipate, ma'am. Dollaryde."

Rebecca stopped pulling, allowing the little monster to escape. "You're kidding."

"I wish I was." She handed over the data pad. "Last cruise he was turning out 3.3 to 3.6 on his efficiency reports. But he's slipping and badly. You expect it at first when you uprate someone; so the first 2.9 he did went by without notice. But in two weeks he's dropped to an average of 2.7. He's assigned to monitoring station two in Fusion one, he spends his shift chasing the bubble."

Rebecca checked the record. Hughes had highlighted the shifts in question, and the number two station reported constant changes in the settings, running up and down by as much as four percent above and below the median. This was dangerous, though the euphemism sounded almost funny. It had been taken from surveying and the sighting transit used. If you set one leg of the transit at a time, you ended up trying to level it every time you set the leg, or 'chasing the bubble'. But by tamping two of the three legs, while adjusting two of the three leveling wheels simultaneously, you leveled and set the transit in half the time.

With a fusion plant it was a disaster waiting to happen; because if that variation became 5% or more, the plant could lose containment. That would cause a partial loss and vent inside the ship, killing or injuring the engineering crew. Worse yet it could lose full containment, reducing the ship to dust as the plant blew.

She turned to her computer, bringing up Dollaryde's records under Chief Engineer Commander Collins. "Number One, this doesn't make sense. Did you check his position under Commander Collins?"

"That's why it doesn't make sense. He was doing the same job, but excelling." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I knew Collins well enough to know he wasn't buttering your bread to cover for Dollaryde. And Hayes is tough but fair. What's changed?"

"I don't know, but we're going to find out." Rebecca leaned forward. "Os?"

"You want me to talk with the Bosun." She looked up at the pantry door, where Oscelli was standing.

"Do you have to do that?"

"Do what, ma'am?"

"Either eavesdrop or use some kind of weird psychic powers to keep track of my whereabouts?"

"If I am to do my job proficiently, the answer would be yes." He replied equably.

"Can you think of anything that might be distracting our Mr. Dollaryde from his duties?" At his quirked eyebrow she added, "other than the twins."

"He has been having problems with the brewery. He dumped his last batch of beer right before we deployed, according to Chief Sisko. He didn't give a reason, but he was upset. Mr. Krueger has also been riding him hard. The midshipman did apologize for something, what I do not know. But he is still pushing the lad pretty hard."

"Anything actionable?" She asked sharply.

"No." Os shook his head. "Like a young officer who expects the enlisted man to do better, according to Ensign Reese."

"All right then. Have someone check surreptitiously to assure Dollaryde has enough ingredients for more."

"Surreptition would be the way to go, ma'am."

**Surreptition**

"Hey, Dollaryde." Chief Sisko called out as he headed toward hydroponics. The younger man looked up, then back at his console. The chief stopped. "What, I'm not worth talking to?

"It's not that, chief." His eyes didn't lift from the panel. "I just got reamed, again, by J.G. O'Connor because he says I'm chasing the bubble."

Sisko walked over, looking at the console readings. The controlled star that was the fusion plant was rock steady, pressure moving barely half a percent from the median. Every time the pressure shifted, Dollaryde tapped in a correction. The kid was micromanaging like a maniac. Concentrating like that constantly during a four hour shift would drive you crazy.

"Has it been acting up like that since you started?"

"No, chief, only during this shift." The kid rubbed his head. "I've done two diagnostics in the last three hours, but I didn't find anything wrong with the system." He bit off a curse, adjusting it again, "It's like the-"

"Chief, can I help you?" Lieutenant JG O'Connor came up behind them.

"No, sir. I was just checking on Dollaryde-"

"Chief, he's having enough problems doing his job without people from other departments coming by and trying to chat him up. Talk to him in an hour after his shift."

"Yes, sir." Sisko turned, leaving the compartment. He passed through the section where the brewery stood. The vats stood empty, and he walked over, checking them. They had the look of something that had been scrubbed and polished until they shown. He smelled the air, noticing a trace of cleaning solvents in the air.

He went on, arranging to have vegetables that were grown aboard, primarily tomatoes because of the speed with which they matured sent up to the pub, then went to storage to have other vegetables, delivered to be sliced into bite sized pieces.

"Morning, Boozer." He looked up from his thoughts as the Bosun came by.

"A word in your shell-like, Boats?"

"Always have time for you, Boozer."


	13. Blowups happen

**Blow ups Happen**

The squadron sailed through hyperspace, bound for the Congo system. The squadron had moved around the edge of the Erewhon system as _Witch Maiden_ pressed on to orbit the planet itself to collect dispatches and the supplies the Bosun had ordered for Dollaryde. She had expected him to be relieved, but he had merely grunted as if it didn't matter. His daily efficiency had plummeted, and those who knew the twins noticed that they seemed to be worried about him as well. But Dollaryde himself merely shook his head when asked.

As he trudged toward the passageway, Francis wondered why he bothered. The girls were worried, but he was a man, and his father had always told him a man took care of his problems by himself. But he couldn't see a way to fix this. An officer setting him up for a fall, his efficiency so bad he looked like a fresh kid entering engineering school. His brewing... He bit his lip. The one thing he had proven good at being destroyed. He was almost sure the system was fighting him as he monitored the plant today. He had spent every minute of the last shift just keeping it balanced, and everything he did just made it shift the other way even more. It was like trying to balance a ball bearing atop another one, a constant dance that he was failing more and more. Yesterday his efficiency had dropped to .98, if he were still in middle school it would have been a grade of D-. and he'd never scored that bad on anything in his life!

It had to be Krueger. Ever since he'd come aboard Krueger had ridden him like a mule, always pushing, demanding more, yet never satisfied. Oh he'd apologized for that insulting nickname, but Francis had found out what it meant before he did, and the meaning burned in his breast like a coal seam fire.

He felt like sighing when he met JG O'Connor as he reached the hatch into Fusion 2. "Dollaryde." He snarled, handing the rating his pad. His heart sank. He thought he had scored at least 2.98 today. But according to the pad, he was at .6. An F. "You are off the panel as of now. Go to Fusion one next shift, report to JG Sawyer. He's set up a remedial course to get you back up to speed. Until you pass his course, with honors, until you can do your job right, I will not have you on my deck." He turned on his heel, storming off.

Francis found himself headed for hydroponics, and the vats. He didn't know why he was bothering. Krueger would find a way to ruin this as well. His misgivings were well founded. The first thing he smelled wasn't the smell of brewing beer, it was the stench of human waste. He came up to the gently simmering vats, and found a pad laying below them.

**Since you keep making filth, we felt it needed some flavor**

He considered the storage where his remaining ingredients were as he slipped the pad into his pocket. O'Connor had given him permission to move them down from the ship's storerooms to hydroponics storage in a locked compartment. With trepidation, he walked to the hatch, keying in the code. The same stench hit him as we walked in. The drums that held his dreams had been opened, and the empty bucket told him what had been added.

He looked across the compartment at the barrel of peach must. Standing from the side of it was a fire ax , and he moved toward it.

Midshipman Krueger hurried toward Fusion 2. He'd stood a shift with the Astrogation department, and was still glowing with some of the praise he'd gotten from Lieutenant O'Malley. But he was worried about Dollaryde. While he had apologized for his unintended insult, the rating had not seemed to understand how badly the young officer felt. The man's efficiency had plummeted so badly that for the last two weeks, Krueger had merely nodded when he saw the young man's work,and couldn't understand why he was still failing. Lieutenant O'Connor merely told him the man had been reassigned, and refused to go further.

As he stepped back out of Fusion 2, he heard a scream of combined pain and rage followed by the clash of metal on metal, and headed toward hydroponics at a run.

Dollaryde was screaming, trying to free the fire ax he'd imbedded in the first of the vats. He was growling in his rage, finally prying the blade free, flipped the tool so it was the spike on the back face of the head that he imbedded in the second. Not satisfied with the one stroke, he raised the ax again, and slammed it into the tank again. Then he stormed over to the third.

"Dollaryde!" He spun, eyes focused on Krueger. He snarled, then hit the third tank hard enough that the ax handle shattered. Not deterred, he began pounding the metal vessel over and over, still screaming.

Krueger came forward as if he faced a madman, hands held out placating. "Francis, what is wrong?"

His calm voice, even raised to be heard over the noise of his attack somehow broke through Dollaryde's rage. The rating glared at him, breathing like a steam engine, then threw down the ax handle. "Not a fucking thing is wrong, sir. Just getting rid of this part of my life." He waved toward the ruined vats. "That should satisfy even you."

"What do you mean, Francis?"

"It means I give up, all right? Your little Schwulie will accept his place, and do what he's told. Are you satisfied?" At Krueger's confused look the rage returned. "Are you fucking satisfied now, sir?"

"Dollaryde!" Both men turned to see JG O'Connor standing in the hatch opening. "You're on report!"

Dollaryde walked toward the hatch. "With all due respect, sir, fuck you too." He walked past the officers.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, mister?" O'Connor reached out, his hand stopping when Dollaryde stared at it mere centimeters from his arm.

"I am going to my quarters. If you want to brig me, you had best send someone to pick me up from there. But if you touch me, I'll fucking kill you both!"

Bosun Sharpe set down the pad, and Rebecca looked at it. "So we have what, three people tagged?"

"Yes, captain. We haven't found-" The intercom interuppted her recitation. Her captain raised a finger.

"Yes?"

"Master at arms Campbell here, captain. I've just been told to arrest 2nd class fusion engineer Dollaryde, charges to follow."

"Do what you must." Rebecca replied. She looked at Sharpe. "It looks like we didn't move fast enough, Bosum."

Cao Mei looked up as Francis came in. She started to stand and come to him, but for the first time ever he waved her away, walking to his locker. He took a pad from his pocket, threw it in, then pulled out a flask. As she watched in shock, he lifted it, pouring the neat spirit into his mouth as if he was dying of thirst.

"Leibchen?" He flinched as if the word were a whip, but drank another sip from the flask. He flinched again as her hand rested gently on his arm. "Francis, what is wrong?"

"Once you girls dump me, nothing." She flinched as the weary defeat in his voice. "I'm not worthy of your love." He pulled a rolled scroll from the locker, pressing it into her hand. "Give this to the captain for me. Not worthy of her trust either."

Cao Mei shook her head, unbelieving. "Francis, talk to me. Please." The annunciator on the hatch sounded, and then it snapped open. Two of Campbell's ship's police were there.

"Francis?"

I know, Chief." He said, hugging Cao Mei. "Let me go, love. Let me go." He touched her face, then put out his hands to be cuffed. They proceeded down the passageway and the hatch snapped shut. It opened a second later, and Fengniao was there, looking confused.

"Schätzchen? Was is los?" Cao Mei's mouth moved, yet nothing came out. Suddenly she wailed, and threw herself into her sister's arms.

**Another explosion**

It took over an hour for Fengniao to get even a partial answer from her sister. The woman kept breaking down to cry, and the older sister had to calm her to get even that much. She finally put the younger woman to bed with a sleeping aid, and stormed out to find out what had happened. While so alike that few (Her heart lurched at the thought) could tell them apart, there were ways that they were fundamentally different people. Cao Mei was such an easy going person, that no one could picture her as broken as Fengniao had seen her. Her wails that Francis had told her the girls should abandon him to his as yet unknown fate had cut her deeply, though his refusal to tell her why had cut even deeper.

She had tried to see him in the brig, but the guard told her gently that he had refused to see anyone, and when the captain had come down, had merely lay in his cell, face turned to the bulkhead, and said nothing.

But the rumor mill was full of him. That he had smashed his own brewing vats, that he'd dumped human watse into them first. That someone else had dumped in the waste, and it wasn't the first time; everyone who had tasted his beer had been asking him when the new batches would be done for weeks now, and he had grown more and more sullen with every query.

There was even a rumor that he might have attacked an officer, or threaten to kill one... or was it two? She was growing more and more frustrated, and the rumor mill wasn't helping. The way she was different from her sister was while Cao Mei was easy going, Fengniao was the kind that took obstacles head on, finding a way through them even if it meant smashing through. But what could have caused this? How did she deal with an obstacle she couldn't even understand?

"Hey, Fengniao?" She looked up at Chief Webster, mount chief of Graser 7. "Any word on when your Schwulie will-" The man gasped as she snapped around, caught him by the throat and slammed him into the bulkhead.

"My what?" Her voice was low, barely controlled. "My what?"

The chief gasped against her grip. "I heard midshipman Krueger call Francis that right before we moved to the wormhole to await the others. I thought it was a term of endearment!"

She glared at him, growling in German. "Where is that Gott aufgestaut Hurensohn?" She said in an ice cold voice. At his confusion she snarled, "Where is Krueger?"

"I think he's in the pub-" He flinched as she let him go, storming down the passageway.

He moved to an intercom panel. "Master at Arms, Chief Campbell, speaking."

"Dutch? This is Sid Webster. I don't know what is happening with Dollaryde, but Krueger called him something. When I said it to Fengniao she threw me into a bulkhead. When I told her who had said it she went off like a missile in acquisition. You'd better get someone up to the pub before she blows Krueger to hell."

The hatch opened, Cao Mei looked up, snapping to attention. "Captain."

"Cao Mei, do you know what happened with Francis?" Rebecca asked gently. The woman shook her head, and began to cry silently.

"He came home after his shift. He wouldn't speak to me, he only opened his locker and began drinking. Then he... He told me that as soon as we were no longer his wives, it would be better." The woman staggered across the compartment, turning to hand the scroll to the captain. "Then he said he wanted me to give this to you. That he wasn't worthy of your trust. Then they took him away."

"I'm taking you and Fengniao off shift for a while until I get to the bottom of this." Rebecca told her. "Where is Fengniao?"

"I don't know. She left a short while ago-" The intercom panel sounded, and Rebecca slammed her fist on it.

"What?" She snarled.

"Master at arms, captain. Fengniao is enroute to the pub with blood in her eye. Something about Krueger insulting Dollaryde. I've got men enroute."

"Contact Sisko. Have him ready to stop her. Now!"

Fengniao stopped in the open hatch, eyes scanning the darkened interior, then locked on target. She stormed across the compartment, fists opening and closing at her sides, only her resolve not to descend furhter into her fury and run screaming at her enemy stopped her. Krueger looked up from the cup of coffee and the activated pad on the table, then stood. "Fengniao."

"Stay away from us." She snarled. "Stay away from me, my sister, and our husband. Just stay away, and remember that if you every call him … that name again, I will hurt you. No, I will kill you. Is that clear, sir?"

She spun on her heel, then felt his hand grab her arm, his voice saying, "Wait Fe-"

She caught his wrist, broke the hold, then spun, her other fist slamming into his elbow, dislocating it. Before he could scream, he gasped instead as her foot snapped up, shattering three of his ribs. Someone caught her from behind, and she struggled against them, her eyes on the man mewling in pain on the deck. "Never touch any of us, you bastard. I'll fucking kill you if you do!"

"Cao Mei?" She looked up from the meal she had gotten, and now couldn't find the stomach to eat. It was Chartaine, looking down at her with worry in his eyes. He set down the cup of coffee he'd come down for, kneeling beside her. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head wordlessly, holding up a pair of pads. He took them, looking at what they said. "Where did you get these?"

"Before they arrested Francis, he was in his locker. He didn't close the door all the way, and I saw that one first." She pointed at the most abusive one. "But I don't know why he took them."

The Republican looked at both silently. In a world where paper was saved for important documents, the place of memos and instruction sheets had been taken by the ubiquitous pads. Single use computer readers, they were programmed with the information, and handed out, and were cheap enough that no one would even notice if they had been thrown away rather than returned. A quick run through a magnetic field would clear them for future use.

"Do you know who send these?" She shook her head. "What's happened with Francis?"

"I don't know, Jacques." She whispered, then her eyes closed, and tears ran down her cheeks. "But he is in the brig, and so is Fengniao. And they won't even talk to me!"

He pocketed the pads. "Leave this to me. Finish your dinner, and get some sleep, please, Cao Mei." He sat there making her eat, then escorted her to the now empty quarters. Then he headed up to CIC. "Ma'am?" He looked at the exec, who was coding in another drill. "May I use a terminal for a while?"

"Your terminals down on the crew deck aren't working, Chartaine?"

"I just need a larger access, ma'am."

"Sure." She motioned toward an empty chair. "Use number four."

The captain stalked into her office, wishing she could rip someone's head off. Irene had caught her mood, and hid under the coffee table rather than jump in her lap as she slammed down into her chair. The Bosun had worked miracles catching three of the people that had caused this problem, and the Brig had them as new occupants. But it had all been too late. Both Dollaryde and Fengniao had gone ballistic while the Master at Arms had been hammering the three caught. Now with two Article 9s on her plate, and still no reason why, she wanted to hurt someone. She glared at Os as he silently delivered a fudge brownie with chocolate ice cream, and she wanted to throw it into the bulkhead rather than eat it. But she silently ate the treat, even if it was like ashes in her mouth.

She had talked with Dollaryde after his arrrest, though talking at him was more accurate, since he had stayed silent during that session. It had been worse with Fengniao. While Francis had merely turned his face to the bulkhead and refused to even speak to her, Fengniao had sat on the bunk, glaring at her and refusing to even admit she was being spoken to.

The annunciator sounded, and she wanted to rip it from the bulkhead. Instead she tapped the button. "Yes?"

"Mister Chartaine to see you, ma'am." the Marine on her hatch reported.

"Tell him I'm busy." She snapped.

"Ma'am, he's insistent. He says he knows why Dollaryde went ballistic."

She chased some of the melted ice cream, her mind now totally focused. "Send him in."

The hatch snapped aside, and Chartaine marched in, snapping to attention. "Well you wanted to see me, and the sentry tells me you might know what is happening." She leaned back. "Talk to me, Chartaine."

The rating looked embarrassed. "Before I do, I have a confession to make, Captain."

"Well confession is supposed to be good for the soul."

"My last posting before Mister St Just died was to State Security, Cyber investigations." He flinched as her eyes focused on him like the grasers of her ship's broadside. "My duty was to break encryptions used by possible traitors so that their private files could be read. I avoided the purge after the New Republic was formed because I was scrupulously honest. I never created files that would be used to condemn the innocent, merely handed off the data I discovered to my superiors. But I was considered tainted by the use others put that data to. I was returned to Naval service after the coup, and have been at my present post, working with Manticoran data systems since then."

"And you are telling me... why?"

"The twins, the ones your crew calls the Darling Duo are friends of mine; especially Cao Mei, as we both work in the same division in CIC. She gave me these, and I undertook the task of finding out who had created them." He set the two pads on her desk. The captain picked up the first.

**We'll keep this up until you stop**

She looked at him as he set the second down. "This was done yesterday."

**Since you keep making filth, we felt it needed some flavor**

She set it down with the over control of someone beyond fury. "So you know who created these documents?"

"Yes, Captain." He said softly. "But I may have violated the rules your nation uses for investigating a crime. We may not be able to charge that man."

She looked at the offending pads. "Talk to me, Chartaine."

**The hammer falls**

Cathcart wondered about the summons from the Captain. He had covered himself in every way possible, so she could not accuse him of violating her orders. But all of his assistants were now in the brig. He stopped outside the hatch leading to her office, and the contempt in that Marine private's eyes was obvious. "Captain? Mister Cathcart is here."

"Send him in." Her voice was cold, try liquid helium cold. The hatch sna;ped aside, and Cathcart entered the compartment. The captain was standing with him at her back, her hands clenching behind her as she considered the bulkhead before her where a schematic of their patrol area lay. He marched up, snapping to attention, then relaxed, reaching for one of the chairs before her desk.

"Did I tell you to be seated?" Her voice cut like a scalpel. He returned to attention as she turned to face him. "Are you satisfied, Mr. Cathcart?"

"Ma'am?"

"I asked, are you satisfied, Mr. Cathcart?" Her voice would have stripped paint off of battle steel at 500 meters.

"I don't understand, capt-"

"Spare me your attempt to cover your ass, mister!" Now the voice would have stripped the outer layer of that battle steel. "It was so choice of you to make sure your own co-religionists did your dirty work after I ordered you to stop." The captain turned, a valkyrie seeing someone unworthy of her attentions. "Well let me give you a precis of what your vendetta has done. Lieutenant JG O'Connor is in the brig for using the faked data that made Francis Dollaryde an incompetent. He's charged with using falsified data to condemn an innocent man. If he is lucky, I might let him merely resign... but he had better not bet on luck.

"Yeoman Chief Dricsoll, who created the program that skewed Dollaryde's reactions to the data that lied about what was happening during his shifts is charged with creating falsified data during time of war. Even if it had been peacetime, his career is dead.

"Egnineering Rating 1st class Mitchell is charged with adding an illegal program to falsify data. He's looking at ten years for that. Then Quartermaster Mate 3rd Daugherty, who was the one that polluted Dollaryde's vats at your instigation is looking at five to ten for destruction of private property in excess of 2000 Manticoran dollars for his pollution of Dollaryde's vats, not once, but twice." She spun toward the bulkhead again, her hands clasped so tight that he could see the bloodless circles where her fingers cut into her hands.

"The only thing saving you from a court martial this very instant is that the proof that you were the instigator of it all was discovered without due process. Lucky for you that a Republican computer programmer acted out of friendship to find out what had happened, but forgot to tell us. You are so fucking lucky, lieutenant."

"So I cannot charge you, along with your fellow consprators." She turned again, and he flinched from her basilisk stare. "But I will tell you this now. As much as I have never used patronage before, you have earned my hate. I cannot prove your complicity in these action, thanks to the legal requirements of the law, But I have proof that cannot be denied. That has been appended to your personnel file, and any that ask can have it all.

"Your career in the navy is dead, you bastard. If anyone is willing to assist you, they will get a full download of why I see you as filth. Anyone who supports you from this point on will recieve exactly what you have done to earn my hate. Now get out of my sight before I rip off your head and shit down your neck! Dismissed!"


	14. Damage Control 1

**Damage control One**

She should have been satisfied. She had taken the odds and sods added to her crew and melded them into a crew. Even the Republican team had become part of that extended family. Cathcart and his clique should have been a minor bump.

But their actions had caused the Dollarydes to go ballistic, and that had shattered that family feeling. Worse yet she could see no way out of this trap.

As a child newly bereft of her mother, Rebecca had clung to her father as the one constant in her life. She had spent years learning his craft as he worked his way from defense attorney to prosecutor. She had wondered around the age of nine why her father was worried about a case where an enlisted man had struck an officer. She didn't see the problem. After all she had hit Jenny Sawyer at school a week before, and they were still friends!

Silently he had handed her two books from his collection, CS Forester's Hornblower and the Hotspur, and Billy Budd. In both cases, the penalty for striking a superior officer was the same, death by hanging.

Oh the RMN wasn't so draconian in most cases, but during time of war, or in the present case a time of emergency, the Regs could still give the death penalty in Fengniao's case.

That was when she learned of the dark sides of his duty. They were called regulation, and moral vacuum.

Regulation was the rules he had to stay within; the definition and punishment of crime. Striking a Superior Officer, he had explained, was worse than the average horrendous crash and burn offenses such as rape. She had ended up waiting years until he explained what rape even was; and during the period between had occasional nightmares where convicted men were placed in aircars that were crashed with them inside.

Moral vacuum in it's way was worse. To her, there was right and wrong, in fact his father had taught it to her. But as a lawyer, he had to accept that moral vacuum. That a man charged with a crime had a right to the best defense, even when he was a guilty as sin. At nine he was still a defense counsel, at fifteen when she learned what rape meant, he had become a prosecutor. By the time she was old enough to enter Saganami Island, he was the man assigning those counselors. By that time she had set her eyes on command, and while he had been a little hurt by that, he had been proud when she graduated.

Right now, she wished she had entered JAG, if only to know what to do now.

Chin Li saw the captain approaching, and tried to sit up at attention, but the quick heal had barely started on the shattered ribs, and he winced, grabbing his side. "Rest easy, snottie." She said, and he collapsed back, still holding his side. She sat, primly, hands folded on her lap. "Tell me, midshipman," She asked in a conversational tone, "do you know how badly you've stepped on your crank?". He wanted to laugh, but the first snort of laughter caused him to curl up in pain.

"I think my condition would answer that, Captain." He finally gasped out.

"Oh good. Though I think the commandant of Saganami Island will have a few choice words when you return." She replied with a perfectly straight face. "Calling a Manticoran rating an, how shall I put it, 'crossdressing faggot wanting to be sexually used as a woman', was a pretty stupid career move."

"Yes." He straightened up. "So Joshua Stanhope told me."

"But you did it anyway."

"Captain, when I was in Junker-schule before going to Saganami Island, my instructor called me that and worse. He told me afterward that he thought I might some day be a good officer, and he pushed me just as hard as I pushed Dollaryde. So when I undertook my mission to get Francis to excell, I followed the same pattern." He looked at her cold face. "That is not an excuse, ma'am. Merely an explanation. When Joshua returned aboard, he told me it could lead to a charge of conduct unbecoming under the Manticoran Navy regulations so I stopped using it. I apologized to Herr Dollaryde, and did not repeat it again."

"That is all well and good, snotty. But you didn't bother to finish the job." At his confused look she cocked her head. "You don't think Fengniao sought you out just because she felt like hitting someone, do you? She learned about that term from someone who heard you use it, right after Francis was arrested for threatening to kill you. They both added two and two and came up with different answers than four. But you were the answer in each case.

"I can't give you every jot and tittle of why they made those mistakes because frankly I do not know them all. What we do have is three careers and four lives that could ruined by your stupidity."

"I understand that, Captain, and wish I could go back, and fix the problem." For some reason, this made her smile, though it was only a flash.

"I assume Francis thought you were ruining his brewing, which would explain why he trashed his own operation, and blew up at you when you came in. We know you didn't. We have those five people being sent home on the first available dispatch boat, four of them facing courts martial I will not hold aboard, since when the crew finds out what they had done, I wouldn't have been able to empanel a disinterested court." She shrugged. "Quite honestly, if we held a court here, they'd be lucky to survive long enough to stand trial.

"But I am not sending Dollaryde and Fengniao home yet."

"Ma'am?"

She shrugged. "If I send them home without the full story, some brand spanking new ensign from the JAG office will be assigned the case, and the first reaction of a new defense attorney is to try to have them plead guilty, and throw themselves on the mercy of the court. But it won't matter why they either berated you or pounded you into the deck, not under the Articles. Francis could be looking at ten years hard labor, and Fengniao could be executed.

"But I can't see any other way to handle it myself. So I am breaking the regs myself by thinking about sending a letter to a friend of mine in the JAG office."

He closed his eyes. Captain, would it help to hold a court here?"

"I can't in Fengniao's case. Since it could be a capital case, the Regs require that it be held back home."

"Not of them. Conduct Unbecoming is not a capital crime aboard a Manticoran ship."

She shook her head. "The problem is, that thanks to the rumor mill, it wouldn't help. The politest rumor about what happened between you and Dollaryde is that he said something to offend you, and you were using your rank to get even. The worst is that you wanted the twins for youself and tried to destroy him, hoping to get them on the rebound. Sacrificing your career is not going to change that. If you claimed water was wet they'd assume you were lying. But the offer is appreciated, Chin Li." She stood. "Get better."

"Captain, I will have lost all respect in the crew's eyes."

"I know that, mister. The only alternative would be to send you home with the others. Cathcart might survive that, as a midshipman, you will not." She looked down at him. "From this point on, you are going to have to prove yourself all over again." She turned just as Cao Mei entered the sickbay. She looked upset. Strike that, she looked pissed and ready to finish what Fengniao had started. "Cao Mei!" The woman's head snapped from Krueger's bed, then she came to attention.

"This is an order, Chief. You will sit here patiently, and listen to what Mr. Krueger has to say by way of explanation. If you still feel you must physically abuse him, I order you to report to your quarters and stay there until you have calmed down, without inflicting more damage first. Is that quite clear?"

She visibly restrained herself before replying. "Zu beufehl, Kapitain!"

As Rebecca left sickbay, she heard Krueger say, "If you can't restrain yourself even under orders, I would ask you to break a leg..."

_That might help,_ she thought. Rebecca lengthened her stride, hitting the lift button. When it arrived she rode up to the Officer's deck. Jinhua had been ensconsed in the same quarters as she'd had previously, though the dragon who guarded that portal was new. Shang-Ti Jaeger was her Majordomo, and like a dragon, he guarded her as jealously as a dragon guarded her hoard. "I would like to speak with the Graffin." She told him. His eyes didn't flicker. He only bowed, and stood aside.

Jinhua was in a chair, reading a file. She looked up, and nodded as the captain entered. Fenghua was to one side, with Daedelus on her shoulder. Since they had left the home system, the reading to her had stopped abruptly. Part of her was glad, but as she saw the girl sitting there with a book on her lap, Rebecca realized she missed it.

"This is the land of Narnia," said the Faun, "where we are now; all that lies between the lamp-post and the great castle of Cair Paravel on the eastern sea. And you - you have come from the wild woods of the west?" She read, her finger pointing at the words as she did. The Cat tapped her face, then pointed at the reader she held up. She sighed, then turned to the computer beside her. She typed in something, then paused.

"Cair is an old British word which can mean castle, city, or court. Paravel is derived from paravail, which in turn comes from the Old French language par aval, with meanings like down, lower, and lesser, and perhaps from the Latin ad vallem, meaning "to the valley". The most likely meaning for the entire name, therefore, is "City in the Valley", although "Lesser Court" has also been suggested." She looked up. "Do you understand? The cat nodded.

"What is this?" She asked Jinhua.

"During that last party, she became entranced by the treecat's signing. She told him that human names have meanings too. The treecats are like a lot of primitive human tribes assigning names that fit the person. Daedalus," she motioned toward the cat, "was curious."

"Krueger for example means potter as in an English use name like tailor or smith; like Jaeger means hunter." The girl said, looking up. "Duval means 'of the valley while Duvalier meant 'man of the valley' and your first name, captain, is from Hebrew and means to bind, Kyle means narrow, like a woods or a church. Daedalus means 'craftsman' which he likes, since Ensign Kyle told me his own treecat name means 'maker of tools'. My mother's name means 'golden brilliance'."

"And your own?" Rebecca asked.

"Spiritual wellbeing, or brilliance." Jinhua commented without looking up. Fenghua grimaced.

"Trying living up to 'that' name." She grumbled. "It's not like being tied up is all my name means."

"Enough, daughter. You wished to speak with me, captain?"

"Yes." Jinhua motioned toward the chair across from her, and Rebecca sat. "Explain to me the purpose of a Junker-schule."

Jinhua looked up without raising her head. Then she closed the file, and leaned back. "Both of our nations have a system of patronage. It is the duty of a serving officer to help her subordinates in achieving their potential. This means good men and women are promoted.

"However it is also abused; people who have friends of a higher military or social rank are promoted beyond their ability and this causes problems. Worse yet, your enemies will try to limit your promotion for their own ends.

"As much as others think our first Emperor mad, the one thing he did was create the Junker-schule, literally 'noble school'. The Junkers, our nobles, are expected to send their children who wish military commands to the Junker-schule, so they can learn that while they are of higher social rank, that does not make them better in every way. The only flaw in the system, is that he made it something ordered by law, rather than your own House of Windom making it a tradition."

"I know what you mean. A tradition is something you can't protest without looking like a fool. A law can be argued in court as to it's validity."

"Exactly. Those who have the belief that service to the Empire is what is important will send their children to the Junker-schule. Those who think their birth gives them the right to ignore that fact send their children directly to the Raum Academie. Do you understand?"

"Yes. How does the system work?"

"First, everyone, from the Kommandant of the school to the lowest enlisted rating are enjoined, under law to be of common birth. Even illegitimate children of a noble are not allowed to be among the staff or teachers. This is because during their careers, they see tthe worst abuses by those of higher stations. Second, whatever is done to them once they enter the school, the cadets must promise upon their honor as officers to not abuse those who will be training them or their descendants. Any attempt to revenge themselves on one of their teachers from the school is punishable by dimissal for cause from the service.

"It is much like your own prep schools before you go to Saganami Island. A training middle school that concentrates on the same classes you will later take. But it is much harsher, closer to your boot camp but Andermani style. You see, a drill instructor at an Andermani boot camp can call you whatever he wishes. He can berate you from the moment you wake up until you finally fall into bed from exaustion. He can also punch you in the mouth for failing to obey an order. There is no recourse for a trainee in boot camp, and none for a trainee in Junker-schule."

"So calling a man a Schwulie is acceptable?"

Jinhua looked surprised. "Oh dear. It is a pity Herr Krueger did not apologize to Cao Mei before Fengniao discovered that."

"Why?"

"Both Fengniao and Cao Mei were assigned as unarmed combat instructors to one of the Junker-schules for their first year, so they know what the regimen is like. They had been trained by their father, and were already better than most of the other teachers. One of the trainees was the son of a Baron who resigned and decided not to enter the service. He sited the fact that she beat him so easily, and it caused him to question his manhood.

"When their year was over, they were sent to their specialty schools. Cao Mei did not know it, but one of her instructors was that boy's father, a graduate of that Junker-schule. He falsified records to fail her. When it was discovered, he was cashiered. She was tested again, and passed with honors."

"So if Krueger had apoligized to them, or Francis hadn't kept it from them, Fengniao would not have beaten Chin-Li?" Jinhua nodded, and Rebecca snorted. "Heaven protect us from macho men! But that makes it easier for me."

"How so?"

"Since someone was trying to make him fail, I can set aside the charges for Francis. But as for Fengniao..."

"It did happen in the pub, Rebecca. Isn't there a rule that says there are no ranks in the pub?"

"By god, you're right! I could just kiss you!"

"Please, sharing a bed has damaged my reputation enough."

"Spoilsport. I just have to get Mr. O'Connor to rescind the charges, and I'm golden!"

**The Final Nail**

Chief Engineer Hayes met her outside of her office. "Captain, I was just going to round file this, but when I told Mr. C'Conner that, he insisted that it was not my call; that the Regs say it is at the Captain's discretion." He handed over the pad he was carrying. She opened it, reading the terse request that Dollaryde's permission to brew beer be rescinded because of his failure to meet the standards of his rating. The time stamp was just before Fengniao had pummeled Krueger. She tapped the pad on her hand, then motioned, walking into the office. She brought up her computer, typed in a request, and then began to grin. "Os, I'm in the mood for some Gryphon wine. Crack a bottle of the Wishbone Rhine wine. Would you like anything, Sol?"

He looked startled, and a bit pleased that she had called him by his shortened first name. "I've never tried it, so the wine is fine. But why are we drinking, especially while I am still on duty?"

"Because I think Mr. Cathcart just shot himself in the foot. But I had best make sure." She tapped her annunciator. "Corporal Ryan? Would you have someone down in the Republican quarters send up Mr. Chartaine?"

Cathcart stopped at the hatch to the Captain's office. While he was trying to hide it, he detected a gleam of amusement in the sentry's eye. "Captain? Mr. Cathcart is here to see you."

"And that other matter?"

"I'd estimate another three minutes, ma'am."

"Send him in." The hatch snapped aside. Cathcart stepped in, slowing when he saw Commander Hayes sitting in the one chair. The captain watched him walking across the carpet, and he detected glee in her expression. He snapped to attention.

"After all your work in the matter, I felt it was only fair that you know that the criminal investigation into the Dollarydes' actions has been concluded. All charges have been dropped, and both will be reinstated to duty after I inform them."

"Captain, I must protest!"

"Really." She reached out, tapping a key on her computer. "I felt you might. So please, elucidate for the record."

"I understand that the main charge, that Dollaryde had been failing his proficiency was due to falsified evidence, but he did verbally assault two officers, and he is in the brig for that.

"As for Fengniao, she physically assaulted a superior officer in front of witnesses! You can't just sweep that under a rug!"

She reached out, her hand poised. "Is that all, Mr. Cathcart?"

"I will file a protest stating that your own actions not only allowed these events to occur, but that the entire investigation you claim to have held was a blatant attempt to gerrymander the findings so that you could let two criminals go free!" At her silent query, he nodded sharply. She tapped the key, and she was not even attempting to hide her satisfaction.

"Frankly, Mr. Cathcart, you don't have the brains god gave a Gryphon Prairie Dog." At his confused look she snorted a laugh. "When I was young, my father would take me hunting them. We used 6mm rifles because they are smart enough to go underground if you're close enough to see, or if they see a bullet striking the ground. but beyond that, they're not very bright. I would see them through the scope, and sometimes I would not have a shot. So my father would say 'miss high'. When that happened, father would tell me to wait, because the sound of the bullet passing over their head would cause them to rear up, and your second shot would take their heads off.

"When Rating Chartaine went into our files illegally, he was looking for specific information; the provenance of who had created the insulting documents Francis kept. Those pads had been issued to your department, not to Engineering, so it was easy. You dodged the bullet with them, but like a Prairie Dog, you had to find out what that odd noise was. When Chartaine went back in two hours ago, as an official member of the investigation, he was told, again, to look for specific data. This time it was regarding the Addenda I gave you.

"Since it is an important document, I had the file tagged so all access could be verified. It has been accessed seven times. Once by me when I made the copy for you, which according to Ensign Kyle, is still in your desk. then by the exec, the Bosun, by me again when I gave a copy to Mr. Christian, then by Mr. Campbell when he took over from Mr. Christian, then by Mr. Hayes. The last time was by you the day before Dollaryde blew up.

"That last copy was in Mr. O'Connor's quarters, on a pad issued to your department, and it is the final nail I needed to put you in a cell right beside him." She stood, coming around the desk. "You see, Commander Hayes had been asked by O'Connor about Dollaryde's brewing. That was during the first week after he arrived. At that time, O'Connor accepted the commander's statement that Dollaryde had my permission to brew his beer. Yet he assisted you in crucifying Dollaryde. Obviously he needed help; according to Commander Hayes he never was the sharpest stylus in the box, and you, aganst my orders, gave him what he needed to request that Dollaryde's permission be revoked. And the statement that Commander Hayes did not have the authority to merely delete the request, as the Addenda states, word for word.

"As for me 'gerrymandering the investigation', as the daughter of a man who spent his entire career in the JAG office, I know more about the procedure than you imagine. While 90% of those investigations are done on site by the officers and men assigned by the commanding officer, the Jag office itself will sometimes either request further investigation, or even send their own investigators.

"Those investigating officers are men and women within that office, who will later become counsuls themselves, so that when they stand in front of a court for the first time, they know exactly how exaustive the investigations can be. My father went through that procedure, and since he hoped I might follow in his footsteps, I got to hear about three _hundred_ such. One thing they are supposed to look for is why something happened, not just what happened. That is why the last step in the process is the investigators suggesting the specific charges for that command authority to accept."

All trace of humor had vanished, replaced with contempt and her tone was scathing. "Mr. Dollaryde blew up because you and your cohorts pushed him to. He blew up at Mr. Krueger specifically because he already knew that the young man was pushing him, he just didn't know why. I spoke with Mr. Krueger, and while I cannot accept his methods, I understand what he was doing. But you added to that burden unnecessarily.

"Fengniao acted to defend her husband's honor, not knowing what Krueger was doing, and the only one with the right to charge her for that offense is me, which I will not do. All of the decisions I have made in their case will be forwarded in a full report to the JAG office along with your self-serving complaints. All you did, was try to win a battle you had already lost, and I will tell you now, you failed miserably."

She stepped closer. "Remember the bible basic tenets of your faith? 'Be truthful to your word. For I shall judge ye by it'. You violated you oath to the Star Kingdom. 'To obey all laws of the society you are part of until the truth of my word is revealed'. You used your faith in a misguided attempt to ruin four lives, and violated regulations to do it.

"Instead all you and your cabal have done is destroy your careers. O'Connor, Driscoll, Mitchell, Daugherty, you. Think on that as you sit in the brig, as you are cast from the Navy as not worthy to wear the uniform. Think of the high honors your view of god would give you as martyrs of the faith if you had just cause, and know that here, where your good works and faith to your nation are judged by god, you were found wanting."

He screamed, left arm snapping back. As the punch came forward, she blocked it upward, then in the next instant her right leg snapped into a circle kick, coming up between their bodies, and her foot smashed into his right cheek with bruising force. He flew aside, clutching his jaw in agony.

Rebecca glared down at him in loathing, then walked back around her desk, to tap the hatch key. It snapped open, and Campbell stepped in. He looked at the man mewling in pain, then at his captain. "Ma'am?"

"Arrest him. Disobedience of a direct order, conspiracy to use falsified data to ruin a rating's career, and attempting to assault a superior officer." She looked at the man again. "Take him by sickbay. Once his jaw is wired, he can eat his meals through a straw until he's healed." Campbell came forward, hoisting Cathcart to his feet. "Oh, and lieutenant." The Master At Arms stopped so Cathcarrt could face her. "I've been wanting to hurt someone ever since your plan caused the arrest of Dollaryde. Thank you for giving me the chance."

She sat, then looked to her chief engineer. "Thank you, Sol. Contact the Exec and the Bosun. We are going to need them here for the next part."

**Letting the Punishment fit the Crime**

Francis Dollaryde marched down the passageway behind the guard, and he knew he was toast. He had exploded at two officers, that was the only fact the captain had to know. Definitely an Article 9. Facing her, and having her pass that sentence was a mere formality before he was shipped home to face trial and disgrace.

In any military organization, there are rules, and different levels of possible punishment. The lowest was of course a verbal or written reprimand, where you tell them what they have done, and tell them not to do it again. The only difference between the two is that a written repimand followed you throughout your career.

Then was 'non-judicial punishment', or the Captain's Mast. It was not as harsh as a full General Court martial, but the fact that it had to even be held was a black mark for years. If he were very lucky, that was what he faced, but the punishment could be as much as 45 days imprisonment with reduction in rank by three pay grades, and loss of pay per offense.

Fengniao with her own guard followed him, and that, more than anything else wounded him . She had been unwilling to speak to him, and he wasn't sure if it was because she was angry at him, or ashamed for him. He had heard what she had done, and he couldn't see any way for her to get out of this without a court. He might spend 90 days in confinement, but she could die, all because he didn't let them know what was happening.

As they approached the hatch, Dollaryde saw Midshipman Krueger coming the other way. The man was walking, but the way he held his side, and the flex-cast on his arm showed that Fengniao had really pounded him. He wanted to feel satisfaction, but the sight only reminded him forcibly that this might be the last time he saw one of his wives ever again.

"Francis-" Krueger stopped speaking as the sentry on the hatch raised his hand.

"No talking, sir." He thumbed the annunciator. When the captain answered he reported their arrival.

The hatch snapped open, and Chief Campbell looked them all over, his expression wooden. Then he pointed at Francis, and crooked his finger. The young man took a deep breath, and started forward, but suddenly stopped as Fengniao wrapped her arms around him from behind. "We love you, Francis." She whispered. "Whatever happens, we're not letting you go." She pulled back, and he stepped forward.

The captain sat at her desk. Standing to either side were the Exec and the Bosun. Francis marched forward, snapping to attention.

"Off caps!" Campbell barked, and Dollaryde reached up, took his beret off his head, tucked it under his left arm, then went back to attention. The captain watched him cooly for a moment, then swiveled her eyes to Bosun Sharpe.

"Charges?" she asked, and Sharpe consulted her memo pad.

"Prisoner was arrested for two violations of Article 9, violent, abusive and threatening language to two superior officers. However the investigation into the matter revealed evidence that brings the charges into question. It is the suggestion of that investigation by the Executive officer, myself, and the Master At Arms that they be reduced to two violations of Article Thirty-Four, instead." she said crisply.

"Were these charges investigated fully?"

The Exec opened her own pad. "The investigation shows that Fusion Tech 2nd Francis Dollaryde was discovered by Midshipman Krueger while the rating was smashing his own brewing vats with tools from the Damage Control locker. When the officer tried to gain his attention, the rating then began to berate the officer with harsh and foul language. When Lieutenant JG O'Connor came on the scene, he tried to stop the diatribe, but the rating turned and began to berate that officer in a similar manner, then made to leave the compartment. When Lieutenant O'Connor moved to stop him, Fusion Tech Dollaryde threatened to kill that officer.

"The rating then proceeded to his quarter, where he was arrested without resisting."

"So noted. Rating Dollaryde, are you ready to accept your sentence?"

"Captain," Campbell spoke up, "The incident which Chief Missile Tech Fengniao Dollaryde has been charged for has bearing on this incident."

"Does it." The captain's voice, if anything, became even colder. "Then bring her in." The Master At Arms went to the hatch. A moment later, Fengniao snapped to attention beside her husband. Francis wanted to touch her hand, to do anything he could to stop the avalanche that was about to fall. But the Captain's eyes bored into him like leveled grasers.

"Caps off!" Thomas commanded, and Fengniao hand snatched down her beret, tucked it under her arm, and snapped to an almost painful attention.

"Charges?"

The pad came back up, and Sharpe read it. "Three violations of Article 9. The first, that the prisoner sought a confrontation with Midshipman Krueger in the pub. That she verbally berated him before witnesses, when that officer made to stop her from leaving she violated Article 9 with aggravated circumstances by physically beating him before witnesses. That once she had been physically restrained she again violated Article 9 by threatening to kill him," She looked up. "However the investigation into the matter revealed evidence that brings the charges into question. It is the suggestion of that investigation by the Executive officer, myself, and the Master At Arms that they be reduced to one count of a violation of Article thirty-four, and one count of Article thirty-six, fighting with a fellow crewman, with aggravated circumstances."

"I see." The Captain regarded Fengniao. "That's a very serious offense," she said, and turned to look at Commander Hughes. Have you investigated these charges Commander Hughes?"

"I have, Captain. I've examined all witnesses to the incident. All of them agree that the prisoner intentionally sought a confrontation with midshipman Krueger, in the course of which the prisoner accused him of insulting her husband. When that officer tried to stop her from leaving, the prisoner did systematically beat midshipman Krueger, dislocating his right elbow and shattering three of his ribs, requiring reconstructive surgery."

"I take it those are the 'aggravated circumstances'?" the Captain asked.

"Yes, Ma'am. Particularly the ribs. All witnesses agree Mr. Krueger had already been effectively incapacitated, and that the kick to the ribs was deliberately intended to have the effect it did."

"I see." The Captain returned that basilisk gaze to Fengniao and leaned back in her chair. She sat there unmoving for several seconds, then lifted a finger at the woman.

"Did you in fact seek a confrontation with Midshipman Krueger?"

"Yes, Ma'am." She replied clearly.

"Did you at any time use abusive or threatening language to him?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Her voice became softer.

"And did you strike this officer multiple times?" At her mute nod the Captain clucked her tongue. "Aloud for the record, Chief. Did you strike him multiple times?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I see. And did you intentionally dislocate his elbow, then break his ribs?"

For a long moment, she stood silent. "I was not thinking that clearly, Ma'am. When he touched me all I wanted to do was hurt him." She whispered.

The captain steepled her fingers. "By that statement, I assume that if you had not been restrained, you might have killed the man?"

Fengniao took a deep shuddering breath. "I don't know what would have happened if I had not been restrained. So I must admit I might have."

"I see." The captains hands came down on the desk. "Would you do me the decency of telling me why this confrontation occured?"

"No excuse, Ma'am."

"Come, come, Chief. I know saying 'no excuse' covers a multitude of sins, but if asked directly, you are supposed to reply. Why did you proceed on this course?" When Fengniao's eyes cut to her husband, the Captain snapped out, "Mr Dollaryde does not have the answer written on the side of his head, Chief. Answer the question!"

Fengniao sighed. "Because he called my husband by an abusive name, defaming not only him, but both of us, his wives as well. That he did so in front of witnesses; one of whom told me of it not knowing what it meant."

'I see." The captain's eyes cut to Francis. "Mr Dollaryde, would you telling your wives of this assured that this proceeding today might have been avoided?"

"Ma'am?"

She sighed, leaning forward. "I shall be blunt. Would telling your wives what you had been called have stopped your wife from physically assaulting the officer in question?"

"It might have, Ma'am."

"And further, telling them that the officer in question did stop calling you by that insulting name, and apoligizing to you for the use of it might have also had a mitigating effect on you wife's actions?"

His head started to turn at the same moment as Fengniao's, but the Master At Arms snapped, "Eyes front!"

The Captain stared at him. "Answer the question, Mr. Dollaryde."

"Yes ma'am. If I had told them, Fengniao would have restrained herself."

"Then by your statement for the record, that makes you complicit in that assault, does it not?"

"Yes ma'am." He whispered.

"As I asked her, I now ask you. Is there a reason why you did not tell them?"

"I was raised with the idea that you take care of your own problems. That only the weak need to ask for help in such a situation."

"Chief, if he had told you what was occuring, would you have understood Mr. Krueger's actions?"

"Yes ma'am."

And would you have beaten him to a pulp if you had known what and why he might have been doing this?"

She sighed again. "If I had been told what he said, and how Mr. Krueger was treating him, I would have made an accurate assumtion of his reasons. I would have asked him, ma'am."

"I am unmarried, but I will give you a word of advice, Mr. Dollaryde. When you marry, you promise to join for better or worse. A wife is not an appendage that you attach, she, or in your case they are supposed to know when you have problems, and their duty is to help when they can. For the record, Mr. Krueger went to a Junker-schule, which is a term your wives would have understood, as they served on the staff of such a facility. If they had known what Krueger was doing, as your wife stated, they would have asked rather than beating him. Neither Fengniao nor you would not be standing before me today, and Cao Mei would not be wondering about your fates."

The captain glanced at the Exec. "Recommendations, Ms. Hughes?"

"Stating that she might have killed Mr. Krueger very serious admission, Captain," the Commander said. "We can't have our people going around breaking one another's bones or killing each other deliberately. On the other hand, this is the first time either prisoner has ever been in trouble, so I suppose _some_ leniency might be in order."

The Captain nodded thoughtfully and gazed at them for what felt like an eternity.

"The Exec is correct," she said finally. "If you had both been more willing to communicate, you would not be standing here today. Do you agree Mr. Dollaryde?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Francis replied.

"And you, Ms Dollaryde?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I'm glad you do. I hope this will be a lesson to you both, and that you never again appear before me or any other captain on similar charges." She let that sink in, then fixed Francis with an unflinching gaze. "Are you prepared to accept the consequences?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Francis said again, and she nodded.

"And you, Chief?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"In the case of Fusion tech 2nd Francis Dollaryde; Upon the recomendation of the investigating body, the Article 9 violations are set aside and reduced to two violations of Article Thirty-Four, instead. One of those charges has been waived upon full disclosure to myself of why they occurred. You are sentenced to one day of confinement in quarters, and one week's pay.

"Since there are claims that you might be incompetent, you will then report to Lieutenant JG Sawyer, who will test your understanding of your duties at your present rating. Assuming you pass that test, at the request of Midshipman Krueger, you will be tested again to see if you are worthy of another chevron. Having checked you efficiency reports before somone began actively messing with them, I feel you might achieve that goal.

"In the case of Chief Missile Tech Fengniao Dollaryde; Upon the recomendation of the investigating body, the Article 9 violations are set aside and reduced to one count of a violation of Article thirty-four, and one count of Article thirty-six. She is hearby sentenced to three days confinement to her quarters, three weeks pay, and I expect the both of you to start communicating more openly.

"Finally," she opened her desk drawer and took out the scroll. "You have yet to fail my trust, Mr. Dollaryde. If I ever think you have, I will ask for this back. But if you throw it in my face again, I will be upset." She held it out until Francis took it from her. "Dismissed."

"On Caps!" With the ingrained pavlovian response they replaced their berets. "About, turn! Forward March!"


	15. Torch

**Torch**

Sorry about the delay; real life and trying to sell some of my work slowed me down.

If you've read the reviews, you'll see this one:

From: Hutch (Guest)

Hutch:Nice chapter with interesting character development, but to borrow from  
Sgt. Schlock of the webcomic "Schlock Mercenary", 'Can we please shoot  
something now?' grinning

Sure, Hutch, no problem.

The squadron came out of hyper right outside the limit, sails reconfiguring into impeller bands. Rebecca watched her crew at their stations. The damage done by Cathcart's cabal was still reverberating through her crew. Krueger would be in sickbay for two more days, and she wanted to assure that he at least was cleared.

"Put us in orbit, Lieutenant O'Malley. Guns?" She turned to Abigail, who was on watch.

"Drone shell one is going out now, skipper."

"Very good. Micah," She turned toward her communications officer. "contact the other witches. I want a shell around the ecliptic at the hyper limit. We should have enough between us."

"Yes, ma'am!" He grinned at the pleasure of having her call him by his Christian name.

At a sedate 208 gravities, they moved inward.

"Challenge. TRMS _Tubman_ is calling us."

"Put them on, Micah." On the tactical display, the Frigate was charging them like a threatening Pekinese. Effectively, they were hyper-capable versions of the Royal Manticoran Navy's _Shrike_-class LAC but with about twice the missile capacity and a _pair _of spinal-mounted grasers, with the second energy weapon bearing aft. But the _Turners _were probably at least as dangerous as the vast majority of the galaxy's destroyers.

The view screen showed a man with a narrow glare, and brows that met in the center of his forehead. He looked like the guy you avoided in a spaceport bar if he'd had too much to drink. But his voice sounded like he should be an announcer on a talk show. "This is Samson X, commanding TRMS _Harriet Tubman_. You are HMAMC _Witch Maiden_?"

"Yes. Rebecca Duvalier, Baroness Duvalier of composite Squadron 3151 commanding." Rebecca replied.

"You have been expected, Captain Duvalier. Please maintain your approach, and welcome. _Tubman_ clear."

Rebecca touched her annunciator. "All hands, this is the captain speaking." She grinned, and suddenly put on the air of the pilot of a passenger aircraft approaching something the passengers might like to see. "I want to thank you all for choosing _Witch Maiden_ airlines. On our right, you can see Liberia, where the simple people of the Congo system are harvesting the asteroid belts for needed materials. Ahead of us just two hours away is the planet Torch where they busily gather the local vegetation for conversion into pharmeceuticals."

She dropped the tone as members of the bridge crew began to laugh. "All joking aside, I do have a few important annoucements. First, Mr. Dollaryde is not only out of the brig, but at my orders will begin a new batch of beer as soon as we can have the ingredients gathered. Since his problem was caused by other people, I am footing the bill for those ingredients, and have already bought that first batch, so when it is ready in two weeks, the drinks, you might say, are on me.

"Regarding Fengniao Dollaryde, she has been suitably chastized, and will be returning to duty on the day after tomorrow. Considering that she has forgiven Mr Krueger's actions, I expect the rest of you to give him that slack. In return he has volunteered in his copious spare time to assist Mr. Dollaryde's efforts in assuring that all of us remain pleasantly tanked.

"Once we're in orbit, I will be conferring with the local authorities concerning our mission. I expect some busy weeks here before we go on to our operational area. So get some rest now, because we're going to hit the ground running. Duvalier clear."

As they reached turnover, there was a cluck from Tactical. "Something interesting, Guns?"

"Yes, skipper. There are more warships in orbit than our download mentioned. There are sixteen Solarian _War Harvests_, bang on. But we have _eight_ light cruisers instead of six, seven heavy cruisers instead of six, five battlecruisers, and sixteen SDs. Two of the light cruisers read as _Frigate_ class Havenite units, four of the heavies are _Mars_ B class, the battlecruisers are _Warlords_." She turned. "And a bunch of the ships below the wall are squawking _GSN_ IDs."

Rebecca blinked, looking toward the com panel where Joshua Stanhope looked like a treecat with his own celery patch. "Do you have something to say, Middie?"

"It's the original Elysian Navy squadron, ma'am." At her blank look he grinned. "When Steadholder Harrington broke out of Cerebus, her crews manned ships taken from Statesec, and she dubbed them the Elysian Navy. But when she got home, there were... problems.

"A Steadholder is limited under Grayson law to only fifty armsmen, and that," he motioned toward the tactical panel, "is a lot more than that. To get around it, the Protector organized the Protector's own, with the Steadholder as commander. I know that up until about a year ago, all of those ships were in mothballs because we'd replaced them with modern Alliance designs and christened the replacements with the same names; sort of like your Manticoran Honor list.

"If you look closely at GSNS _Farnese_, you'll see that her pain scheme on the port side makes her appear to still be damaged. The SD(P) of the same name has the same paint scheme, in honor of when the Steadholder used her as her flagship at the Battle of Cerebus. When it came time to remove the originals from the fleet listings to replace them, Steadholder Harrington asked that they be transferred to the TRN as a gift so that they would not be scrapped."

"Thank you, Mr. Stanhope." She turned back to tactical. "As for the SDs, they were a a wedding present to Queen Berry from the Queen. Originally she had intended to give them some of the ships captured at Spindle, but after the Yawata Strike, and Admiral Filareta's suicidal attack on the home system, she substituted some of the least damaged prizes from them."

"But we are going to need every SD we can get if we have to fight the League!" Abigail replied, shocked.

"Of course we will. But those ships, except for software and a few minor bells and whistles, are a generation or more behind the Republic's ships we fought in the first war. Thanks to the Yawata Strike, it's going to take us a year to refurbish them for combat in the modern environment, and that's _after_ we rebuild the infrasturcture necessary. We need modern ships now, not ships that have to be almost rebuilt from the keel out two or three years from now.

"So Erewhon gets a good look at the League's tech, has the slips available in their system to upgrade two or three of these at a time for Torch, along with the passage crews to move them from here to there and back again, and when the crews can finally man them, a firm happy ally here if it goes to hell with the League."

"You mean when." Commander Hughes commented. "The League will eventually remember that Erewhon is two transits away from the home system. I expect it to get pretty hot out here soon enough."

"That's what we're here to watch for, Number One." Rebecca stood. "I'll be getting ready to go down and meet our laison officers. The rest of you, break time's over. Back on your heads!"

The squadron came into orbit, and their wedges came down. In Cargo 2 Rebecca shook hands with the rest of the Republican crew that were going to be assigned below. She and Roclair had at least developed a mutual respect. Besides, Irene liked him, so he couldn't be all bad. The atmosphere was drawn out, and three shuttle departed, the Republicans to Liberty Station, and Rebecca's toward Beacon, the capital.

The planet was a verdant green pretty much from pole to pole, thanks to a minimal axial tilt. Everything that wasn't rain forest was swamp, marsh, ocean or bayou. Set about forty degees above the Equator, Beacon hadn't been built as much as slashed out of the forest around it. The local wildlife was classified as 'aggressive', which was like saying a Kodiak Max in winter was a bit peckish.

Like most locations for the first settlement on a virgin planet, the town had been started where a river estuary met a bay. The river, bay and town had been named by the Mesans. However the new owners had changed them. Now the River Jordan flowed into Moonlight Bay; whoever had named _that_ had been in a truly puckish mood.

The previous owners of the planet had created barriers of sonic and physical fences around the actual production sites and residential areas across the planet, but that had not been for humanitarian reasons. It was just less expensive than replacing slaves in job lots every T-month. Any slaves who ran afoul of that wildlife were used as raw material for Mesan chemical vats because even the native microbes created byproducts that were valuable in the chemical industry.

The new companies renting those sites, like Havlicek Pharmaceutics of Erewhon and the Hauptmann Cartel's Medical Processing Division were literally minting money as they worked. Less than five percent of the planet had even been explored, and like the Amazon Rainforest used to be on Earth, new medicines and species were being found every day.

Rebecca looked down, then at the package Os had handed to her. It was from Queen Berry's adoptive mother, Catherine Montaigne; once Countess of the Tor, now the commons MP from the Borough of High Threadmore in Landing. How she had ended up as a delivery woman she had no idea. As they came in over the coast she saw a flash of movement. It was a small group of animals about human size, running on their hind legs to take down an herbivore the size of a shuttle. She had seen them before in the file on Torch. The Mesans had named them T-raptors, because they were the size of the ancient velociraptor, but with a head and jaws more like the T-Rex. They came in for their final approach, flaring out over the assigned pad, then settled to the ground.

The large town was bustling, cargo shuttles over in the comercial hub were coming in and lauching at the rate of one every two or three minutes. Workers moved cargo to warehouses or shuttles using antigrav pallets, forklifts, pallet jacks or even stevedores. There was over two thousand years of history playing before her eyes out there. A ground guide was making a notation on a pad as the ramp dropped, and Rebecca walked down it. Behind her came Jinhua and Fengua followed by the slightly menacing Shang-Ti Jaeger.

The ground guide nodded to them, pad still in hand. "You're the Manitcoran captain?"

"Yes."

"Queen Berry is awaiting you at the New Residence." He motioned toward a line of air cars along the edge of the landing field. "Her own car is going to take you there." He gave a sharp whistle, and a black limo pulled from the line to head toward them. The party climbed in as the cargo she had already ordered was delivered in an air van.

Like a lot of relatively new settlements, Beacon sprawled. The entire population of the town; less than half a million, could have easily fit inside three or four of the high residential towers of a more settled world, but that would be a century or more into the future. Right now, it reminded her of the small towns of Sidemore and the more rustic portions of her own Gryphon; including the 'city' of Duvalier in her own barony.

Of course, since snow was nonexistent in this region (and rare except at the poles themselves on the entire planet) the roofs didn't have the sharp peaks of Gryphon or Sphinx. But they _were_ peaked because it rained. In fact it rained a lot, according to her briefing information. As they traveled over a residential area, it began, starting as a few drops, then pounding down like a waterfall for several minutes, then slowed and stopped.

The New Residence was the first sign of what might be called modern technology on the planet. A fifteen floor building with a hand holding an upraised torch showing in a holographic display above it. Rebecca had seen that representation before, but couldn't figure out where. "The hand of the Statue of Liberty that used to stand in New York Harbor." Jinhua commented. "The entire building is new, thanks to the Mesan nerve gas attack of two years ago."

The car settled in the parking area outside the building, and they climbed out. A pair, one with a treecat came toward them. "Captain Duvalier?" She nodded. "If you will all come with me?" She followed. Treecats were rare anywhere, and to see one on Torch surprised her. The woman with it riding her shoulder looked up, then back at the captain with a grin. "Sammie has that affect when people see him for the first time. But ever since Genghis and his partner died in the attempted assassination, we've been assigned here." She sighed. "I am not a security guard by profession, but as long as Manpower wants to kill the Queen, we're stuck here."

"What is your profession?" Rebecca asked.

"Try exozoologist." The woman replied. Sammie tapped her head, then signed to her. "I know, Sammie. We go where we're needed. Doesn't mean I have to like it." She waved toward the distant forest. "You know they're finding a new species of animal just about every day? I get to read the reports, but I want to be out there seeing them for the first time!"

"I know how you feel, actually." Rebecca said. "My father had hoped I'd become a JAG officer, but I followed in my mother's footsteps. All because I wanted to serve in space."

The entry terrace to the building was all that remained above ground of the older structure. A Haz-Mat team from the Maya Sector of the Solarian League had been sent in by the OFS governor, Oravil Barregos to clear away the chemcial weapon that had killed almost three hundred people when a controlled man had released it in the 'throne room'. Most of them had been the new bureaucrats of the emergent star nation of Torch. But some had been people the Queen had cared about or respected, including the one person who had been her original bodyguard.

The neurotoxin had been very hard to deal with; it had a persistence that made it as dangerous as plutonium dust. Just touching a wall that had been affected by it would have been lethal in minutes, and the LD; lethal dose, had been in micrograms; millionths of a gram. It had been easier to simply rip down the old building, and replace it. The wreckage had been lifted out in specialized haz-mat containers and dropped into the sun.

The building had been built by the Mayan Sector as well. In a usual case of OFS having them 'help' a Verge nation, it would have been the first move in occupying it. But the cost had been considered a loan, and would be paid off before the year was out. When it came to Office of Frontier Security officials, Barregos and the Maya Sector was the pennicillin mold on the rotting bread.

There was a wide entry hall beyond, and it actually looked palatial rather than business like. There were armed guards, but few of them. However there were so many different technological methods of security that when you had masses of guards, it was because an important person was being escorted. A young woman looked up, nodded, then gestured toward the double doors behind her. Beyond it was another more narrow hall, with a pair of doors at the end. The next room made Rebecca pause.

It was so... mundane. A chair sat on a dias, probably the throne, though it looked like a simple office chair rather than anything ostentious. A nice comfortable seat, nothing more. Beside it were two women. One was of average height, blonde, and slim. She was talking to another woman, a much larger woman. That woman was over two meters tall, and built almost as if they had made a larger than life marble statue of the smaller woman, down to pale skin and platinum blond hair, though her hair was a lot shorter and curly. They turned as one, and watched as the sole remaining guard (The one with the treecat) led them to the dias.

"Captain?" The smaller woman asked. At Rebecca's nod, she came forward. "Ruth Winton."

"I recognized you, Princess."

The girl sighed. "Stop that! I may be a princess back in Manticore. But here I'm simply Ruth Winton."

"Just as Iron Felix was just Felix to his friends... if he ever had any." The larger woman commented dryly. Ruth closed her eyes in a look of long suffering patience.

"I should have never introduced her to the history of Intelligence agencies." She muttered, then rounded on the larger woman. "If you're going to compare me to some ancient intelligence boss, couldn't you use Sir Francis Walsingham? William Bedell Smith? J Edgar Hoover? Bill Donovan?"

"Oh, you mean good officers who weren't too repressive?" the larger woman was obviously teasing."

"We'd have to leave out Sir Francis if we did. No I mean 'competent' ones."

"From what I read, Felix Dzerzhinsky was very efficient."

If you like torture and mass murder." Ruth shot back. Then she raised her hand before the larger woman could reply. "We have guests, Thandi. Be nice." She turned back to Rebecca. "Since we are getting a share of the 'take' from your operations here, Captain, we figured we'd meet you before Berry does. This," she waved toward the giantess, "Is Thandi Palane. We haven't actually come up with a proper moniker for her position as Commander of our armed forces, but everyone calls her Great Kaja." It was Thandi's turn to have a look of long suffering. "We're head of Torch Intelligence and Commander of the armed forces."

"We wanted to make sure you knew who to contact directly instead of her Majesty-"

"Ahem." A voice said from one of the doors nearer the back of the room. The young woman standing there looked like she was ready for a safari into the deepest jungle. Khaki jacket and pants, and- Rebecca felt an urge to giggle. She was wearing a pair of purple treecat slippers. The girl stormed across the room, glaring up at Thandi. "Your hand, Thandi."

The huge woman looked down, almost twice her height, and more than twice her mass, yet she extended her hand palm down toward the pint sized terror. The girl slapped the back of her hand sharply. Rebecca was reminded of a young child swatting the nose of a pet mastiff, and getting away with it for the same reason.

"I have to put up with that crap when we're in council or when we have merchants in here, but when it's just us, I am Berry." She looked at the surprised Captain and the amused little girl. Jinhua and her guard. "You lot are new, so you get one warning, call me Majesty or Queen, except when we're under formal conditions, and I'll do the same to you!" She raised her hand in warning.

"I will endeavor to behave, Berry." Rebecca replied.

The reaction of the girl was surprising. She clapped her hands gleefully at Rebecca's word, no her _accent_. "Except for Daddy no one has that accent here! I didn't realize how much I missed it until he left on that super secret assignment with Victor right before the war ended." She looked at the large box Rebecca held at her side. "Did Mother send that?"

"Yes she did, though I don't know how I ended up being the delivery service."

"You have a man named Oscelli aboard?"

"He's my steward, actually."

"He's also from High Threadmore. Mother asked someone at the Admiralty if anyone from her district was being assigned here."

"And they told her?"

Berry held out her hands, and took the box. "Hey, she's on the Naval Appropriations committee in the Commons! It wasn't like it's a secret." Berry hugged the box. "So when she found out your steward was coming here, she sent a letter asking him to carry a package to me. She cleared it through Admiralty House, of course.

"Hugh!" She shouted. Everyone flinched at the shout. Then Jaeger stiffened. The man who entered would have been considered a monster to most of humanity. He stood half a meter taller than Palane, and had rippling muscles that made him even more mishapen. He walked lightly though, reminding Rebecca of holos of the hexapuma of Sphinx. Berry charged the huge man, the box in her hands. "Happy Birthday, Hugh!"

"Berry, you know I don't have a birthday. I was decanted." At odds with his appearance, he had a mellow voice. Again Rebecca was reminded of a young girl and her... Kodiak Max.

"You do now." She told him. "I had mother pick this up, and decided that the day it arrived would be your birthday from now on." She thrust it out. "Go on, open it!"

The man looked at those present, blushing slightly. Then he carefully began to open the paper. Berry grabbed it back, shredding the paper like a kid at Christmas, then handed it back. Hugh looked at her for a moment, then took the lid off it. He reached in and pulled out... a huge pair of purple treecat slippers.

"You know how hard it was to find them in your size? Mother had to get them made in Ginormous!"

"Thank you." Hugh looked at the shoe in his hands, then put it back in the box.

"You're welcome." She held up her arms as if he were her father, and he picked her up to hug her. The observers merely watched until he put her down.

Berry clapped her hands. "So, to business. Ruth and Thandi have no doubt told you what we need-"

"No, Berry. Someone slapped my hand while I was still talking to the captain, before asking." Thandi commented.

Berry glared at her. Then looked at the captain. "Your squadron is bringing in our new LACs and their CLACs, but we need someone qualified to patrol now. Do you know about our wormhole?"

"Yes, Berry." The Torch Wormhole junction was only sixty-four light-minutes from the primary, closer and very faint in comparison to a normal womhole. While little or nothing was known about it, Mesan records captured by the rebelling slaves from when they owned the planet said they had never bothered to survey it, yet snippets among that date claimed it had three terminii. How they could know that without doing a survey suggested that they had lied. "Your LACs and Frigates can't do it?"

"Our LACs are short ranged." Thandi told her. "They're all obsolete even by Solarian Standards; Headed out from here they have an endurance of only about four days. And we have tried to picket it with Frigates, but they are so much larger than an LAC that we have spotted ships approaching it without signalling. If we try to contact them, they just hyper out. But The LACs aboard our new CLACs are longer legged, from what I hear, between the use of Manticoran tech and the Republic's sheer toughness, they should have a much longer endurance. And I was told that your AMCs carry LACs of their own..."

"My ship does. The others had been refitted earlier than the _Maiden_. She was the last to be sent in, and they didn't ripped out her LAC bays; so we have twelve of the most modern LACs in space aboard."

"Good." Ruth said. "The problem is, under Interstellar law, we can claim the wormhole because of it's position, but if we can't enforce it..." She shook her head. "Until we have our own longer legged LACs, and our own crew for them, we could really use your help for a while. Maybe two months or more."

Rebecca considered. "Unless I hold _Witch Maiden_ here, that could be a problem. While ours have a much longer endurance, it isn't enough for more than about a month, I think. If you would not mind, I can check with my Squadron commander and the CLACs we brought. Maybe we can cobble together a tender for them. However I can have half of the squadron deploy for the moment, and extend the recon drone shell to cover the wormhole as well. Better yet, I can have what's left of my own drones deployed to cover the wormhole." She motioned. "If you have a com center nearby, I can order it while I get briefed in on our mission."

"Please."

**A serious error**

Leading five other LACs, HMSLAC _Legate_ decelerated toward the wormhole. They were spread in an arch, as they were going to englobe the one light second space taken up by the wormhole. Matthew Quintain sat in his command chair, checking the readouts of the ship's gravitational sensors. The wormhole was detectable, but looked more like an anomaly than like the fury of the Manticoran Junction back home. He had assigned his units spaced with the more experienced crews between the newer units, so _Legate_ was flanked by RSNLAC _Shrew_ and RSNLAC _Succubus, _, with RSNLAC _Otter_ next to starboard and farthest to port was GSN _Michael_ and RSNLAC _Fubuki_ next to fill it out. Behind the LACs came Witch Maiden, already deploying drones to encircle the-

There was the flare of a ship coming out of hyperspace ahead. He stiffened. Less than a million kilometers ahead of his ship!

"Helm, reverse course. Full speed! Right at him!"

"Sir, our orders-"

"I gave you an order! Do it!"

The helmsman shrugged. "Reversing helm aye. Full speed, aye."

"Sir, contact appears to be a dispatch boat. No transponder. Range 900,000 kilometers and closing at 8.5 KPS." Sensors reported.

"Communications, challenge her." He knew it would take several minutes for them to recycle the hyper generator so-

"Contact is turning, not dropping her sails."

"Guns, fire."

The weapons rating looked at the targeting system. "Sir, she's-"

"Damn you, fire!"

The man shrugged, hitting the button. If it had been anyone else, he might have tried again to warn him, but Quintain was an asshole.

The massive graser in the nose spoke once. Unfortunately they were aimed directly at the boat, and at this range without an impeller wedge, and moving sluggishly due to not dropping her sails, the ship didn't have a chance.

The beam hit just aft of center, shredding the small ship. It exploded.

Quintain stared, then roared, what the hell did you do?"

Even though he'd end up on report, the weapons rating merely turned. "Exactly what I was told to do, sir."


	16. The Mission

**Communication**

The shuttle landed on the deck of _Witch Maiden_, the hatches closing as the crew went through the now instant drill of resroing the compartment to use again. Rebecca saluted the sideboys, then looked to her Number One. "I read the report. Anything new?"

"We scanned the wreckage before it fell into the wormhole and was destroyed. We know it was a dispatch boat, but we don't even know who owned it, ma'am."

"Quintain and his crew?"

"They're stood down awaiting the determination of the inquiry." Hughes shrugged. "From what I can determine right now, it was a total balls up. He's been treating his crew like incompetents, and they've lived down to it. It was a long odds shot at that range without scanning the target, but they scored."

Rebecca nodded absently. "Have Lieutenant Huggins report to my office."

The hatch opened and she stepped into her office, walking across to the deck, and bringing up her computer. She brought up the investigation so far, nodding absently as Oscelli delivered a cup of tea. The annunciator sounded, and she allowed access. Huggins marched in, snapped to attention, and waited.

"Sit down, Becca." Rebecca said, leaning back. The young officer blushed. With the same first name as he captain, she had despaired of having anyone aboard call her anything but her rank or last name. How had the captain found out that her older brother had called her Reba as a child? "How goes the investigation so far?"

"Considering how little we know of the target craft, we're pretty much done, Captain. I screwed up big time." At the Captain's raised eyebrow, she sighed. "I knew Quintain was riding his crew pretty hard. Of course I've been riding _him_ pretty hard. He just passed it on."

"I have been looking at what happened here. He Ignored the verbal orders, acted aggressively when he spotted the incoming unknown. When it began to turn rather than stop, he ordered his gunner to kill it-"

"No ma'am. He did order the gunner to fire, but it was clear to me that he meant it to be a warning shot. The hyper generator had to recycle before the dispatch boat could escape. They would have been separated by less than three quarters of a million kilometers by that time, considering the overtake _Legate_ had already and assuming he went balls to the wall as he did. The three others on that flank, _Shrew,_ _Michael_ and _Fubuki_ had matched his maneuver to close. The unknown could have hypered out, but we would have gotten a good enough read to possibly figure out who she belonged to. And _Michael_ or _Succubus_ could have possibly disabled her with her main armament rather than destroy her."

She sighed. "At that range a hit was a million to one shot, Captain." She shrugged. "But sometimes, those shots come through."

Rebecca held her head in her hands. "Did we at least get a locus on where they were trying to transit?"

"No, Ma'am. We know where they came into normal space, and their location in relation to the wormhole. That gives us an idea. But I spoke with Commander Hughes and Lieutenant O'Malley. It could be something like a third of the circumference, considering that no one in his right mind would anticipate being exactly on track after a hyper trip of any great distance. We don't even have the locus used by _Harvest Joy_ in her attempt last year." At the Captain's look, she shook her head. "Doctors Kare and Wix didn't send the data back to Manticore, and we weren't in orbit long enough to get it from Torch."

"Just great." Rebecca leaned back. "Is there anything that is not in this report?"

"Lieutenant Quintain did put First Class Donahue on report for insolence. He was the gunner."

"All right, Becca. I'll view the log, and then talk to them. Suggestions about dealing with Quintain?"

"Ma'am." She paused. "Skipper, part of me wants to ram it down his throat. He's been a bad influence with the ratings of all of the crews. If you treat them like incompetent children, it isn't surprising if they act like it when crunch time comes. But his scores in the Academy were _good_. He was better than I was then. He could have had this command if he'd just tried harder. So I'd say read him the riot act, but leave him in position.

"But we'll have to replace Donahue. Not that he isn't good too. I'd suggest shifting another gunner in. We have some in the ship's crew that can handle it, and I don't want to see the rating being punished for obeying a hasty order."

Rebecca smiled. "You know, you could have flushed his career if you wanted. For that matter, we both could."

"Oh, I know that, Captain. But at Saganami Island they taught me that you can't guarantee having everyone in your command be perfect. A good commander works with what she has, not with what she wishes she had."

"That she does. Understood. I'll talk to him. Dismissed." She turned back to the report.

"Captain?" She looked up. Huggins had stood, but hadn't left the compartment. She motioned for the question. "How did you know to call me Becca?"

Rebecca smiled. "My brother was six when I was born. He could say Rebecca, but for some reason, he didn't like it. So he called me Becca. I know you had older siblings, so I assumed they probably did the same. I have found that when you talk in the familiar with your crew, it helps to find out what they like to be called, rather than just calling them something you think is more comfortable."

"But how did you know it was something I liked being called?" Huggins was exasperated. "Skipper, I know that isn't in my file."

Rebecca gave her a sly smile. "We captains have ways of finding things out, Lieutenant. When they give us our command, they also infuse us with godlike powers." At the young woman's look, the captain snorted. "And if you believe that, I have a bridge on Manticore I can sell you. You'll work it out soon enough, Becca." She motioned as if to say 'shoo', turning back to the computer.

**Reprimand**

Quintain marched down the companionway to the captain's office, snapping to attention before the marine sentry. "Lieutenant Quintain reporting to the captain." The Sentry touched the annunciator, announcing him. Then the hatch snapped open. The lieutenant marched through, snapping to attention before the desk.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The captain merely sat there, looking at him. Irene was in her lap, and her hands petted the animal absently. "Sit down, lieutenant." She waited as he did, then leaned forward, Irene diving off her lap to clear the decks. The captain turned her monitor enough that he could see the report no doubt filed by the squadron commander. The bitch was probably chortling over how she finally had the means of screwing him big time.

"This is a two part lesson, lieutenant. The first is what you did right. The next is what you did wrong, and how to tell them apart." She looked at the report, then transferred a data log into a holo projector. It showed the red furnace of the wormhole, with the line of LACs approaching it. "I have listened to the orders given by your squadron commander, and your briefing of your crews. While your tone with them was condescending, they were clear and precise. Your formation and assigned patrol areas were good, the placement of the recon drones assigned to you by Witch Maiden adequate. All mostly good.

"But here is where you went wrong." The dispatch boat hypered in. She froze the recording. "I know as any officer does you can't always be in position when the enemy arrives. You were out of position, and they were close enough that you were in range that even stealth wasn't going to cover you. That was not your failure. It happens. It is what you did then. Your orders were to signal any intruder before closing. You instead went full throttle toward them.

"That was more aggressive than your orders allowed, but I've never met an LAC commander that wasn't all teeth and claws. You did signal them to heave to, but there is a six second time lag if they wanted to reply. Less than three seconds after your hail, they maneuvered to escape. You and I both know there would be at least thirty seconds more before they could hyper back out. But did you notice where the new heading was taking them?" She allowed the holo to proceed, and added something he hadn't considered. The turn had made the new course pass into the resonance zone of the wormhole.

_Any _wormhole terminus associated with a star formed a conical volume in hyper, with the wormhole at its apex and a base centered on the star and twice as wide as its hyper limit, in which hyper-space astrogation became less than totally was the one volume of space between Torch and the wormhole in which it was virtually impossible to translate between normal-space and hyper-space.

"By the time their generator has spooled back up, they would have been inside the Zone, and would not have been able to hyper out safely. Oh a warship might have tried, or turned to escape back out of it, hoping they're armor would stop you from killing them before they did. But no dispatch boat skipper would have tried beyond reversing their course. Mistake one.

"You then ordered your gunner to fire. When he tried to report the enemy position, you repeated the order. It was just bad luck for everyone involved that you hit the boat and killed it. Mistake two. Neither of these was serious beyond the people you killed." She turned off the holo, leaning back. "But you made one major mistake. Do you know what it is?"

Quintain merely stared at her. Why hadn't they told him about the resonance zone?

She took pity on him. "Mister Quintain, you have constantly treated everyone junior to you as people too stupid to seal their boots without orders. Your crew has dealt with this from the start, and every rating and junior officer assigned to the squadron has dealt with it since you came aboard." She leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk. "I know you are the officer, and they are 'merely' ratings, or Warrant officers or even midshipmen. But if you have to get behind and push them to do their jobs constantly, it's usually your problem, not theirs. So your crew has been following your orders blindly, and that is why all of the simulations you have been part of were considered failures.

"Even with that, when it came to a real life situation, they tried to help you. Your crew tried twice to let you know what was occuring. The sensor rating knew the target would enter the resonance zone in nine seconds, but didn't tell you after your snapping at the helm. The gunner tried to tell you that your order to close on that specific course could cause you to hit the boat, and you had not specified if it was a warning shot or if you wanted to kill the target. You again cut him short. So instead of setting up to fire a warning shot, he hoped to luck and fired on the direct bearing. That caused the unnecessary deaths of at least eight people who we will never know were even enemies. You can't request information from a corpse unless you're a forensic pathologist.

"You're supposed to be a leader. Men _follow_ a leader, and instead of being that leader, you've been acting like a slave overseer whipping them to work harder. You can see it in the crews of the other LACs; even Midshipman Kramer gets better responses because she _listens_ to her crew. I'm not saying you aren't to give orders, or that you have to slavishly ask their opinions in every situation. But even with your treatment of them, your crew tried to mitigate the disaster to come, and you ignored them." She leaned back. "Any comments, lieutenant?"

"I didn't think about that, captain."

She nodded. "Very good. Now, assuming I don't just send you home as a complete incompetent, what would you do from here?"

He felt like his mouth was full of ashes. "I'd have my crew run simulations of the event, and find out what would happen if I had been less hasty." He didn't want to say it, but it had to be said. "I'd also have to start treating them like intelligent beings rather than plug and play modules."

"Very good." The captain stood, walking around the desk to lean on it, her arms crossed. "Lieutenant Huggins pointed to your records at Harmon Base. You were in the top nineteen of the class there, while she was in the top seven. Your scores have been consistently as good if not better than hers, and the same things I have enumerated kept you out of the top ten, according to your records. What you still don't have that she does is actual combat experience, and you've shown that here. I asked her what she would suggest in your case." His head snapped up in horror. "Don't worry. She could have had removed from flight lead, demoted, even sent home as an incompetent.

"Instead, she's keeping you in your present position as her exec. Not out of any misplaced mercy, but because she thinks that just maybe you can learn from this debacle. As captain, I accepted her judgement in that regard. Don't make us look stupid by acting like an ass from this point forward, because you have no further chances remaining." She stood, walking back to her chair. "We'll be assigning a new gunner's mate, so your boat is stood down until he's up to speed."

"New gunner?"

"Yes." She looked at him blandly. "With the way you treated Mr. Donahue, and putting him on report for 'talking back', we both felt he should be replaced."

Quintain looked at her silently for a long moment. "With all due respect, Captain, can I ask that he be retained aboard?" She looked at him without an expression. "It's my fault that he acted as he did, Captain. He's one of the best gunners I have ever seen, and I couldn't guarantee getting a replacement half as good."

She nodded. "One more thing, Lieutenant." She cocked her head. "Have you ever praised anyone in your crew before?"

"Not to their faces, Captain."

"Then I suggest you start, Mike. Dismissed."

**A new Direction**

"Legate crew report to briefing one." The loudspeaker said. Nine ratings merely sighed as they racked tools or set aside the work they had been doing. They arrived in the room to find their taskmaster standing there, looking at a running holo of the disaster at the wormhole.

"Take your seats, please." Most paused. Please had been the one word Quintain had not used to them since he came aboard. They sat, waiting.

"The squadron commander and Captain have finished their evaluation of this incident, and I will tell you shortly that determination. We are going to discuss it without having others not of the boat present." Quintain turned around. "The first thing I have to say, is that as of this moment, all said in this compartment is off the record, and I expect you to all speak freely. Under regulations, I am not allowed to act in a punitive manner if what you say is the truth. Is that clear?" All he got was silence. "People, we can never figure out what went wrong unless we freely admit our mistakes."

_Your mistakes as incompetents_, they corrected.

He turned back to the holo. "The dispatch boat appeared at a distance of just about a million kilometers. Helm, you questioned my order. Why?"

"No excuse, sir."

"I'll say it for you. I was acting too agressively." The crew perked up at that. "However I have been such a pain in the ass, you did what I told you to do. Correct?" When the man nodded, Quintain clucked his tongue. "I said it, not you, Swanson. I was being my usual pain in the ass. Am I correct?"

Feeling like he was laying his head on a chopping block, Swanson licked his lips. "Uh, yes, sir."

"So, we have at least one honest man in the group." The holo moved as the LAC spun about, now charging toward the intruder. "Now the captain has pointed out this." He added the resonance zone. "Within less than ten seconds, the dispatch boat would have been inside the resonance zone, and with only the few dozen KPS she had coming over the wall, she would have been almost in it before our hail reached them. Yet you said nothing, Wilson." He looked at the sensor rating. "I assume that since every time you have reported when I didn't ask for it, I berated you. Answer aloud, Wilson, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He now tapped, and a line went from the LAC to the dispatch boat. "Mister Donahue, you noticed where we were aimed, and we both know it would be long odds to hit a maneuvering ship at that range. You questioned my order, because I had not been clear enough. You wanted to make sure of my intentions. When I then repeated the order, you merely obeyed like a mindless robot, which pissed me off. You were upset because it is one thing to intentionally fire into a ship, and another if it is an accident, so you said what you did, and I put you on report. Is that a fair summation?"

"Yes, sir." Unlike the others, Donahue spoke loudly and clear.

The holo vanished. "It was determined by the squadron commander and captain that I acted hastily, did not listen to my crew, and you, after almost two months of dealing with me, simply did what I told you to do.

"In other words, the mistakes were caused by me." He looked at them. "I have always thought that being an officer meant making sure things got done right. I still think that. But to do it right, I have to depend on all of you to do your jobs, and that is what I have not been doing. So." He clapped his hands sharply.

"Attention to orders! When we are in the boat on operations, I want you to tell me if I am wrong. If I start to cut you off, call me, I don't know-"

"Asshole?" Quintain glared at Donahue, then shook his head.

"Something a little less... insulting?"

"Bossman?" Swanson asked.

"All right. If I hear one of you call me Bossman, I'll know I'm being an ass. Now what if I'm doing it right?"

"If you're right, we can just call you sir." Donahue said. "We usually do anyway. But one thing we've never called you is Skipper."

"Then when you call me skipper, I'll be the commander you need." Quintain looked at them. "All right, man the boat. We're going to do this again and this time, we're going to do it right!" The crew stood, then went out of the compartment.

Quintain followed, then paused as Lieutenant Huggins stood to. She looked at him cooly. "Now do it right this time."

"Yes, ma'am."

**New decisions**

_Witch Maiden _moved placidly in her orbit as Rebecca awaited the arrival of her peers. It had been a hectic two weeks; turning over the CLACs had gone better than she thought. None of the citizens of Torch had reacted negatively to the ship's names, and the people that would be manning them were already into the training cycle.

The three witches, along with local LACs had scattered the Republican missile pods in a skein that would protect the Station (rename Ellis, after the Island used for decades of Immirgants to the Old United States) and the planet, then bid farwell to their crewmen from Haven, in some cases with tears and hugs as if they were saying goodbye to their own family. The scene between Phillipe Duval and Ensign Konagawa caused cheers and whistling.

But both the new mining facility and wormhole worried Rebecca. Finally she deployed the last of her own pods under control of the LACs still assigned to watch the wormhole. A small freighter that had been captured by their navy had been converted to a tender, and everyone had chuckled when four of the Sabers were displayed as mobile refueling stations. Their missiles were replaced with tanks of consumables; air, water, food, and more importantly tanks to stow human waste that were offloaded from the ships on station and transported to the mother ship for later transport to the planet. With these, the patrols could be extended for as long as necessary.

One thing that she had thought odd had been the heavy cruisers she had expected, _Spartacus_ and _Lara_ had not been here when she had arrived. The Torches had been cagy about that until they suddenly came over the hyper wall escorting a convoy of ten merchantmen; most of them the fleet train of the Protector's Own, less than a day after her squadron's arrival. Only then had the secrecy been removed. In a raid that would go down in history with John Brown's actions at Harper's Ferry and Pottawatomie Creek, the Torches had raided a station owned by Mesa and freed not thousands, but over a million slaves.

Over the next week more showed up, each with their own escorts. Except for eight other mechant vessels, a frigate and the LACs they had carried like cargo, all of them had returned. But there was sadness too when TRMS _Kennedy_ arrived with the last of the merchant ships almost ten days after the others. They had reported that four hundred and fifty brave souls had given up their berths so others could be saved, and had been lost in the defense of over two thousand that had not been rescued.

She allowed her thoughts to return to the present as the sirens sounded, and the hatch before her opened. Two cutters had landed, _Wand_, from _Witch Queen_, and _Garter_ from _Witch Bride_. She walked over to the space between their ramps as they dropped down. Two side parties were in position as the people aboard the cutters came down. The loudspeaker sounded. "_Witch Bride _arriving_. Witch Bride _aboard_." _As the ensigngreeted Schaefer it sounded again. "_Witch Queen _arriving_. Witch Queen _aboard." Schaefer walked over, shaking hands as McCoy was also welcomed. They waited until all of the officers that had come with them officially came aboard. Then they were directed to the lifts as the captains went up together.

"Miriam, Con, good to see you in person again."

"So we're getting our orders now?" Connor asked.

"Yes. Pretty much what we had worked out before we left Manticore. We have four Solarian sectors we're keeping an eye on. We'll go in as singletons under the Solarian transponders. I'll explain in the briefing."

"What about customs?" Schaefer asked.

"We're talking the League here, Miriam." Rebecca reminded her gently. "And OFS protectorates at that. Our 'shipping line' has been in operation for almost thirty years, and knows what palms needs greasing. Also one of those sectors is the Maya sector, and they are getting some of our take, so there are no problems there."

The lift opened, and they walked down to CIC. The compartment wasn't large, but there was the largest holotank on the ship, and that was why they used it. She introduced her exec and greeted the man and woman in those positions from her squadron mates. Then, with drinks served and the rest of the crew cleared out, she brought up the holotank. There were four sectors highlighted. Maya which was closest, was outlined in green. Three others that surrounded the green area on three sides were in amber. She pointed to each.

"Witchita, capitol Rondelay. Carstairs, capitol Carstairs' Star, planet Freemont. Warsaw, capitol Shadwell. Not the worst offenders when it comes to the OFS 'Baksheesh' mentality, but still two of them, Witchita and Warsaw are in bed with Mesa big time. One of the chief slave processing facilities is actually in orbit of Shadwell, according to Operation Amistad."

"Operation what? Phillip Cole asked. He was tall and thin, a Manticoran from White Haven, he was McCoy's exec. Rebecca looked at the captains.

"What I am about to tell you is classified top secret, captain's eyes only. I am telling you all now that if anyone contacts you and uses one of the code names who is not a captain, an executive officer, or member of the nation the code names are assigned to, you will inform you commanding officer immediately. You will not divulge what I am going to tell you to anyone without direct instructions from your commanding officer. Is that clear?" She looked to each junior officer until they nodded.

She explained the provenance of Operation Brown, and the subsidiary operations, Armistad for the League, and Tubman for Mesa itself. "Our closest contact for Amistad is probably in Smoking Frog, though there might be contacts in the other sectors. As for Tubman," she grinned. "The Torches are tied in through every ship that happens to have any ex-slaves aboard, and mail packets on any that don't have slaves aboard."

"Can we give the information we get from these operatives to the governor of the Mayan sector?" Sonya Patrick, Schaefer's exec asked.

"That will be left to captain's discretion." Rebecca told them. "Con, I want you to load up on pharmeceuticals that are going to Warsaw. When you get there, be sure to use your recon drones to get a full readout of the slave station in Shadwell. Miriam, you will take your cargo to Carstairs..."

**New Brew**

One part of the routine established when Dollaryde first began brewing while serving in the Navy had been that every vat had to have a sample drawn off before filling the kegs, which was examined by medical to assure it's quality. The Manticoran navy had always had that rule when any brewing or distilling was done aboard a ship, even if illicit. Too often someone who didn't take proper care would add something to give the drink more of a kick, or not take proper care in sanitizing their equipment, so that instead of something to drink that satisfied, you had crewmen reporting with food poisoning.

Even if you were bootlegging there would almost always be a medical rating willing to run the tests for you. After all, they liked to drink as much as anyone else. But if poisoned people turned up, the fact that medical had not checked it was a serious nail in your coffin. For small home brewers such as the Regs did allow, it was merely a safety precaution. So Francis was sure something had gone wrong yet again when Doctor Ramsey called him to sickbay.

"Ah, Dollaryde, just a moment." There were few in sickbay at the moment, mainly small injuries that only needed salves or bandaging. The doctor finished making a notation, then ushered the young man into his office. "The ingredients for your latest. It was all local produce, yes?"

"Yes, sir, except for the hops. Barley and wheat grown here, the hops were from Erewhon." He shrugged. "The local bacteria loves hops. Every time they plant some, it literally devours the plant."

"And the sugar?"

"None produced locally. They have the same problem with sugar cane and sugar beets, so white sugar is imported. They use a local honey for sweeteners here because sugar can get expensive. I liked the taste, so I used it."

"Ah." Ramsey handed him the pad. Over years at one station or another of going through this process, Francis could read everything usually considered important in the chemical analysis. He scanned down it, then paused at one line.

"Doc, that can't be right."

"Ah, but it is!" Ramsey grinned at the man.

"That isn't beer, it reads like I was making wine!" Francis tapped the line. "Alcohol content, 19 percent? That's more than most Sakes!"

"True. And since part of my family makes Sake for sale back home, I wasn't sure myself. So once I was sure there wasn't anything dangerous in it, I tried it." One reason the medical staff aboard liked this duty, was they got to try each of Dollaryde's new batches themselves first. The doctor opened a small refrigeration unit, drawing out a one liter flask, and poured an inch into a glass.

The rating took the glass, examining it with a careful eye. The color was a deep amber, almost brown. The head was right. He sniffed, and the bouquet was good. He sipped, his eyes widening. "Christ on crutches. That's..."

"Excellent." Ramsey offered.

"Oh my, yes." Dollaryde finished off the drink. "My best yet."

Rebecca worked at her desk. _Witch Maiden_ had loaded her cargo for Rondelay, and would depart orbit in less than three hours, and departure was always hectic. The annunciator sounded and she tapped the button. "Dollaryde to see you, captain."

"Send him in." The hatch snapped open, and the young man marched in. "Ah, our favorite brewer. No problems, I hope?"

"Ma'am, I didn't get beer this time."

She sighed. "What went wrong this time, Francis?"

"Nothing, ma'am." He brought out a liter flask. "If we could get a glass-" he broke off as Os appeared like a Djin from a lamp with a pair of small glasses. Dollaryde poured, then handed one to the captain, then the other to the steward. "My latest."

With trepidation, Rebecca sipped the beverage. Then her eyes widened. Os was standing there like a Somellier, rolling the drink around in his mouth. "That's... Oh tell me you're going to send this recipe this back home!"

"I'll need to import the honey for that brewery." He replied. "The hops too probably. Erewhon grows a genetically engineered breed of Sapphire hops. I don't know if it will grow on Gryphon."

"They'll grow or we'll import soil from Erewhon for them!" She drained the glass. "Heaven in a bottle!" She held out the glass, and Dollaryde poured again. "Don't be so stingy, rating!"

"Just being careful, ma'am. It came out stronger than most wine."

The captain sipped again. "Have you told Boomer about it?"

"He's going to serve it in wine glasses rather than pints. Though I don't think the crew will complain."

"A good man." Rebecca finished the glass, then set it down. "What are you going to name this one?"

"I heard about the losses Torch suffered on their raid, and about Ravika Sukaragi of Thandi's Own. I was thinking, since we're here, a half barrel should go to the locals, and we name it Inkululeko barleywine in honor of her last words."

"Agreed. When we come back, I expect you to negotiate for that honey and hops. I'm not having Gryphon left out when this hits the market."

"Yes, ma'am."


	17. SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS

**SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS**

Twenty-one days after departing Torch, _Witch Maiden_ came over the hyper wall into the Rondelay system, though to those aboard, only seventeen days had passed. The captain had spent the free time between the two systems studying the Solarian Merchant code. It was convoluted, and boiled down to a Solarian company was right, and any Verge or Fringe system that said otherwise was wrong. She went through the code from one end to the other, and every regulation pretty much said a Core World company could do whatever they damn well pleased if they dealt with another system outside the Core; even in OFS protectorates in a lot of cases.

She had known it was bad, but this was absurd. In fact if a core system wanted to ship something into the _Manticore_ system, they legally could have asked OFS to force Manticore to accept the goods, even if Manticore didn't want it. Of course logic did interfere. With dreadnoughts and super dreadnoughts in their fleet, no OFS Admiral commanding a battlecruiser squadron would have been that stupid. But if they had no such ships...

She was reminded of old Earth history. In the 19th century CE when the British East India Company had discovered that tobacco laced with opium was highly addictive, they had made money hand over fist by taking a product that was pretty much banned in Europe and the old United States, and dumped the lion's share of it in the old Chinese Empire. When the Chinese resisted, the Opium Wars began.

The first war on addictive drugs had been fought not to stop the trade, but to force another nation to accept it. Captains of the same company, in violation of their own laws had transported tons of it into Britain and the New World, merely smuggling it in as personal goods rather than doing so openly.

She watched as the recon drones went out. They needed to keep track of the local OFS forces. None of these systems were supposed to have anything larger than a battlecruiser, so if they saw ships of the wall, or more battlecruisers than expected, they could expect that it was the force they were looking for.

"Skipper, we have a _Bridgeport_ class light cruiser coming toward us from in system, distance 2.5 million kilometers, running at 80% of maximum, now up to 1400 KPS." Abigail Carruthers reported. Beside her, Midshipman Krueger was plotting the ship's course. He whispered, the Ensign leaning toward him. "She's coming in hot. Broadside weapons run out, but no radar or lidar as yet- wait one, both coming up now."

Rebecca looked at her tactical plot. Since the transponder read as _Golden Dragon_ of Dragon Lines of Beijing, a Core World, she was curious. If she had come in as RMMS _Witch Maiden_, it would have made some sense. But as she was supposed to be a Sollie flagged ship... "Tactical, go to alert three. Man every other broadside mount in both broadsides. Prep only."

"Understood." The young woman tapped the loudspeakers. "All hands go to Alert condition three. Gunnery crews, man every other grazer. Do not, I repeat, do not open gunports or run out." Rebecca applauded the girl's understanding. Running out the guns would be a declaration of hostile intent, just as the cruiser's ostentious display most certainly was. Opening the gunports could be read by their radar as well, telling the Sollie tactical officer that she was armed. While any smart Sollie merchant ship that went into the Verge would be armed, only an idiot challenged a Sollie ship in a Sollies system. What she had ordered was not unlike a policeman making sure his holster was unsnapped before entering a rowdy bar.

"Captain, we're being hailed by the SLN Cruiser _Markendale_. They are ordering us to heave to, and prepare to be boarded."

Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "Put them on, Saya."

The screen came up. In the corner was a time delay for the distance, seven seconds. The man looked at her. "SLMS _Golden Dragon, _this is Captain Ramierez of SLNS _Markendale_. You are ordered to heave to, and prepare to be boarded."

"May I ask why?" She asked. "We are a new ship to this run, but our line has stopped here before." She knew, since the shipping line was actually an Andermani cover operation, that all legitimate ships of the line had been withdrawn as of three months ago.

"Your last port of call was the Congo system. All pharmeceuticals from Torch have been declared illegal substances, and are to be seized upon arrival."

Rebecca touched the mute key, and brought up the Merchant Code. She had read something there... She didn't let the smile she felt touch her as she began inputting data. Then she hit the mute again. "Certainly, captain. Sending data now."

Fourteen seconds later the man snarled. "I didn't tell you to send..." He stared at the screen for almost two and a half minutes, first paling, then flushing so red she worried he'd have a heart attack. "You're expecting me to _sign_ this garbage?"

She pretended to be surprised. "Captain under the Solarian Mechant Code, Section fourteen, Seizure of contraband, paragraph seven, sub paragraph four, an officer of a system defense force cannot seize anything not in the previous standard listing of contraband without first notifying the captain of the Solarian vessel that it has been declared contraband, or by specifying that the cargo in question is hazardous under present conditions. Under sub paragraph five, if a League Naval officer gives such a command to a Solarian flagged vessel, he must state, in writing, the reason for the cargoes contraband status, with properly annotated regulations from the code for that determination, and sign the waiver of liability as the local representative."

The man was staring at her, sputtering. "I'm not some Verge neobarb in a rowboat, captain. I am a representative of the League itself! I will not sign this!"

"I am sorry, captain, under sub paragraph six, annotated in 1712, an OFS official is not allowed to seize any articles not previously declared contraband without following through with this section in writing as any other such customs officialis in the Verge or Shell must." She cocked her head. "The Commercial Code is clear, sir. If you do not sign the document I have sent, I am within my rights as commanding officer of a ship of a Registered Core system transtellar shipping line, to refuse your order and depart. Under the same paragraph, you can order me from the system, but I am not required to either hand over any cargo or heave to for boarding. As soon as you have signed the document I have sent; removing liability for failure to deliver cargo already consigned to yet other such lines, I will gladly heave to as ordered."

He glared at her, then turned with his own end muted to talk to someone else. Then he looked down, probably at a screen which had the same data she was looking at. He glared at her, furious, then the screen went blank. The cruiser turned from her approach. "Signal from the cruiser. As of this date, Pharmeceuticals from the Congo system have been declared contraband. We are directed to dock, offload, hand the pharmeceuticals off to the Dragon Lines factor, and begin picking up cargo." She looked up, eyes twinkling. "We are also reminded to notate this stricture in our logs and transmit it to all Solarian vessels we meet. And to remember not to transport future cargoes from the same source."

"That just means we would transport other medicines to Erewhon, the pharmeceutical houses there will then repackage it as Erewhon processed, then deliver it as normal." Rebecca gave her a slow wink. Nothing interferes with profit in the League."

The young woman grinned. "Remind me to never play poker with you, skipper."

"Well as Orwell said, all animals are created equal, but some animals are more equal than others." The bridge crew chuckled. "Maintain course to turnover, helm. Saya, Contact Rondelay Station, signal for the Dragon Lines representative."

"Yes, ma'am."

When they arrived, Rebecca went onto the station as her crew began offloading the cargo.

She carried a 'ready bag' Os had created for her for this occasion. During the original Age of Exploration on Old Terra, the captain of a ship was usually not merely a hired hand; he was also a partner in the venture. While King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella had been recorded as the ones who paid for the first expedition to the New World, they had been just the senior partners of a hundred or more venture capitalists. Christopho Columbo, better know as Columbus had been the junior partner who also happened to be a ship's captain.

But what history did not record was that pretty much every officer who sailed with him were also junior partners, and they had picked up their own personal store of treasure to sell when they returned. That ancient process had returned with a vengeance when man got into space. Of the entire crew only thirty-five; five officer and thirty of the one thousand plus were allowed access to the station in Rondelay. The captain had been draconian in her selection, and every one of the ratings would have been a smuggler back home.

It wasn't punitive, only logical. If a ship the size of _Witch Maiden_ were to be seen as having more than that, alarms would have sounded in the OFS. A _Voyager_ didn't need more than 35 crewmen to operate. A few more, maybe twenty, could be explained as the rare merchant ship that also offered spaces for transport to another system. Or a 'line' ship offering space to others of that line that had to be transported. But once you got beyond that number, there were only two usual reasons to have more than fifty aboard; either you were a pirate, or a privateer.

But a crew for '_Golden Dragon_' had to be seen, or there was no logical reason to even stop here. It wasn't like her cargo could offload or load itself. So the ratings that had been chosen became her 'crew' and had canvassed the rest for anything worth selling to the Sollies. Recent holo recordings made in Beowulf or Manticore, trinkets from the Andermani empire or Silesia, souveniers taken from prizes during the war that just ended, or from the Republican crew that had been aboard. All something a crew could have picked up and carried 'off the books' to sell for themselves.

Traveling from the dock space to the Corporate office was an education. The news was both good and bad for Torch. While the League officially applauded the actions of the Torches in freeing their compatriots, Mesa had leaned on all of their suborned personnel on the League's Northeastern frontier. She received instructions to deliver other medical cargo from Torch in the Maya sector, where Mesa didn't have such a hold. There were goods that could be shipped into the sectors they were investigating, so it would only slow the investigation down. There was an imposing list of what could not be transported to Torch she also received.

The list began with weapons, obviously, but by the end of the thirty page list, it had become ridiculous. She understood why they would ban nitrogen based fertilizer because it could be used in the manufacture of explosives. (As if the planet needed fertilizer. They joked on Torch that when you planted a seed, you had to step back smartly so the plant wouldn't knock you on your ass as it grew) The same with fuel oils for the same reason. But personal electronics? Weather sats? Genetic scanning equipment needed because of 'birth defects' caused by Mesa's genetic manipulation? Children's toys? Baby clothes?

It pretty much boiled down to 'if they want it, they can't have it'. That had never stopped Sollie companies from violating Solarian law, of course. If it was something they could profit on, a lot of Solarian Transtellars only cared about what the profit was, not something so unimportant as mere law. Of course a lot of the transtellars couldn't trade with Torch even then. Queen Berry's government had a simple litmus test for any transtellar that came a knockin'.

When a Sollie ship from a registered transtellar came over the hyper limit for the first time, the picket ships would pass across a list of 'Actions Proscribed by Local Authority'. Most ignored it. Every little system this far from the Core of the League had things they didn't want you to do, or things they didn't want in their systems. But the one that sent most transtellars packing was also the first:

'Dealing with Mesa, Manpower Inc, or their subsidiaries in any of the following fields'. With a list of everything from chemical engineering, ship construction, and on to cloning, 'is grounds for a permenant ban'. For example there were four building yards that built the outer 'vanilla' hull, and two that did the internal modification from cargo vessel to slave transport. That last list alone had seventeen lines, then as if being helpful, a list of every subsidiary of the planet or corporation was appended, along with a listing of every Solarian Transtellar in violation. The primary advantages of having both Jeremy X, ex-terrorist and Secretary of War for the emerging nation, and Ruth Winton assisted by Anton Zilwicki as head of local intelligence was that the list of transtellars banned from any commerce with the system was very, very thorough.

Ruderick Corporation of Britain, Old Terra, which owned Stargate shipping lines had everything they had done since Mesa was originally settled, over six _centuries_ of licensing new processes invented in Beowulf which they then had secretly transferred illegally to Mesa. Silkind Pharmeceutical of Singapore, Old Terra, had been almost as bad.

Oh there had been bluster, whining, even threats to contact the Office of Frontier Security to put down the 'uppity' locals. However it was usually before they reached the _fifth_ article...

'Any corporation, shipping line or ship that has requested OFS assistance in enforcing negotiations with an unalligned polity, or used the OFS to assure market share'. That list pretty much banned 40% of the Solarian transtellars right off the bat. Between the two articles, something like 70% of Solarian flagged shipping was effectively banned. The addition 'any threats by an as yet allowed transtellar corporation, shipping line or ship are grounds for a unilateral ban of one T century'.

Just to drive the stake in their hearts even deeper, the last article of that document was a listing of the 'Torch Trade Alliance', where the polities that had signed and agreed wholeheartedly with this local ban started with The Star Kingdom of Manticore, The Republic of Haven, Erewhon, Beowulf, and ominously, Gail Bronson, the acting Lieutenant Governor of Maya sector. All of whom were willing to enforce it with all force necessary.

So threats would not work. A suborned officer in one of the other nearby sectors might consider forcing it, but having his ships seized by another OFS Sector, then returned by that Sector with the admonition of 'hands off' worked like a cross with a vampire. After all, every sweetheart deal OFS personnel had forced over the centuries depended on their counterparts in other sectors not pissing in the same pool.

While something like 70 percent of what a small colony needed would be cheaper if shipped from a Solarian source, even an OFS Protectorate sector where they were still centuries behind the Core, the restrictions meant it was sometimes faster to order it from Beowulf, two and a half weeks away, rather than even the Maya Sector, which was less than two weeks distant.

On the way back, she stopped at the local customs office. Port Commander Thiokol stood as she entered the office, and shook her hand. then asked if there was anything she had brought personally to sell. She opened the bag, and drew out flasks of Fusion Tech Dollaryde's works. Os had saved two and three liter flasks of everything he had made during the two voyages he had made with her. One by one, the man had tried them, and before the fifth (Capwell) he was asking who was brewing them, and where.

Rebecca allowed that a man in the Manticore system had started a new brewery on Gryphon, and when Thiokol reached the Inkululeko barleywine, the official, in violation of Sollie law; but well within the baksheesh mentality of the OFS, was trying to set up a method of shipping in the brews with himself as the local agent. Rebecca allowed that it might be possible, but would have to arrange shipping from the Manticore system. Every drop of her samples was taken by the man to use to convince others to back him in selling it inside the League. As she returned to the ship, she considered how much money Dollaryde would be making in a year.

It wasn't staples machinery or food stuffs that made up the lion share of the money made in shipping from one planet to another. It was luxury goods. In the 15th century CE, the Portuguese had built an empire shipping pepper and other spices to Europe, where it was literally worth it's weight in gold. Tobacco, tea, coffee had all been luxury items worth a lot of money, and the entire British Empire had been funded for two _centuries_ because of tea and Opium from the Far East.

A new beverage would sell well, and be light enough that a ship her own size could make enough in one voyage to set her crew up for life. As the captain of a Manticoran warship, she was appalled by it. As the woman that had gifted the man and his wives with the brewery, and knowing how much her people back home would make off it, she wanted to carol it out throughout the station.

Less than ten hours later, loaded with cargo technically bound for Erewhon, but actually for Torch, _Witch Maiden_ set out.

**A Royal Patron**

Forty-five days after departing, Witch Maiden came over the hyper wall returning. The Wichita picket had been smaller than anticipated; a squadron of light cruisers and a flotilla of destroyers had been in system, and according to the Dragon line agent, the entire sector only had an additional flotilla of destroyers and two divisions of four battlecruisers. Their connections in the other fourteen systems had reported nothing new added to the deployed ships. Rebecca had chosen the closest and more likely target for herself, neither of her consorts would be back yet.

"Captain? Signal from the station."

"Put it up."

"It's not for us, skipper." Gill turned. "Or at least for us officially. Actually it's a royal request for the Dollarydes to meet the Queen on a business manner."

Rebecca turned the command chair. "Queen Berry wants to see them?"

"That's what they're telling me, ma'am."

"I have to head down with the take from Wichita. Have Ensign Kyle contact the Navy for stores. I know Dollaryde's latest is probably ready, so check with medical. With all of that done, tell him and the twins to prepare to go to Beacon in their dress uniforms." She considered. "Contact Lieutenant Huggins through the Hermes net. Get a report on the situation at the wormhole. We should be able to gather our chicks by now. Number One, you have the conn."

Shuttles blossomed from the ship as they approached orbit. The orbital traffic was heavy. The ships captured in the raid were now carrying transponders as TRMV, with names of abolitionists from centuries of Old Earth history from the Romans onward. The captured _Angel Star_ renamed _Torch of Freedom_ took up one portion of the orbital station. She would be leaving on her maiden voyage in a few weeks. Since the Solarian League had delivered legal papers saying the seizure of all of those ships was illegal without proper adjudication before a _Solarian_ prize court, they would not be heading into the League any time soon.

That had not stopped the liner from being readied, however. The newly incorporated _Freedom_ Lines was almost ready to go. With a capacity of 5,000 passengers, and 750 crewmen, they would be leaving light; only her passengers, the 500 member passenger staff, and fifty of the 250 that would be her operational crew. Thanks to the slaves rescued from Good Times, _Torch of Freedom_ was fully staffed on the service side with the most attractive service crew in space, and had enough crew to run to Erewhon to fill out the ship's crew. Scheduled to run from Torch to Erewhon, then on to Manticore and then to the Anderman Empire and Silesia, she would be followed by others, assuming Torch's rebel front; read the Audubon Ballroom operatives still undercover in the League, could spot the other five liners of the Angel Line, and arrange their capture.

The lion's share of her passengers this first trip however would be the crew of one of the 'Jeep' carriers as yet undecided. Some of them were to fill in on the operational side until they could pick up more crew in Erewhon.

Rebecca stood beside the cutter, waiting for the Dollarydes. She had already heard that by the time the ship set out again, this time taking the Warsaw run, the local LACs would have enough worked up to take over watching the wormhole. There had been another attempt to pass through it without permission; this time a Destroyer. It had come over the wall, sat for five minutes, and had hypered out before they could fire. The LACs had found and destroyed over two dozen recon drones, and had captured two.

Francis and the twins, all in dress uniform came in as a six legged hugging mass. They froze when they saw the captain, snapping to and saluting, but she merely waved toward her forehead, then waved them aboard. As she strapped in, Dollaryde looked at the twins, then at her before passing over a pad. "I just sampled my latest. I found out they have a local analog for cinnamon bark here, and when I tasted it, I asked Yeoman Pankowski to draw this."

Rebecca took the pad. Pankowski had done the nose art for the squadron, and her own ship, a young woman, dressed in a robe that exposed both legs and arms, one hand outstretched in claws toward the viewer, the other at shoulder's height with a ball of fire in her palm. When the Captains of the other two witches had seen it, they had talked him into doing a seal for them as well. _Witch Maiden_'s had a girl just at the point of changing from girl to woman; around seventeen pre-prolong. She had seen holos of the new ones.

_Witch Bride_ had the same woman a few years along, perhaps early twenties. A Bride in a fiery red bridal gown, a bouquet of blood red roses in one hand, the other held before her with flames dancing from her fingertips, and an expression that let you know who would be in charge on the wedding night. Her Motto was 'You will bow before me'.

Witch Queen had the same woman, now looking as if she were in her early forties. She was on a throne in a black gown split up either side that fell between her legs. Her top was a sheath that covered her torso, but plunged to below her navel revealing the inner slopes of full breasts. Her crown was black with silver thorns that arched above her hair, with the hair still falling to below her shoulders. In the left hand was a scepter, in the right a scroll. Both were limned in the same fire seen in the other seals. Her expression was forbidding. This motto read 'Do not stand in my way'.

Rebecca brought up the new drawing. It was of the same three stages of the woman in the seals. They were gathered around what looked like a waist high cauldron, all in the same garb as if three models had merely been moved from one set to another without changing clothes. The youngest held a scroll as if reading a recipe. The bride had a bowl in one hand, the other sprinkling glittering dust into the vessel. The eldest was stirring with one hand, while sipping from a small saucer to test their potion. Beneath it was a logo:

**Hexengebräu**

"Witch's brew?" She asked after mentally translating from German. Instead of answering, Fengniao held out a two liter flask. "When we got the summons, _Unser gatte," _she motioned to Dollaryde, "wanted to show Queen Berry what else can be made from here."

Rebecca took the flask, opened it, and sipped. It was almost as potent as the Inkululeko barleywine, with an almost fiery taste like cinnamon on steroids.

"Oh, I think she'll like that."

The cutter dropped to Beacon landing field, and they moved into the aircar sent to pick them up. The same woman with her tree cat met them, and immediately pointed at Dollaryde. "You're the one who used Spider-Wasp honey to make beer? How did it come out?"

"We left a pony keg of it for the Queen." Rebecca commented.

"That was it? Using local honey? We've barely found a way to safely harvest it!"

"It's just, you know, honey." Rebecca commented.

The woman looked at her strangely Her treecat tapped her head, and she looked up. "You're right, Sammie. She doesn't know how impossible that has been up until now." As they walked, she explained.

Insects, primarily bees and ants harvest liquid nourishment from flowers, the bees by sipping the nectar which they processed in the own bodies into honey. Ants did it by raising and herding aphids and the assorted leafhoppers, which drink the sap of plants, and upon a tapping command on their abdomens, exude the sweet nectar for their 'herdmen' to carry back to the nest. The same was basically true on every planet humans had settled on, either they brought the bees for honey, or found analog insects that did the same thing.

The local analog, named the Spider-wasp because they had eight legs and two sets of wings, were limited to a small island chain more than a thousand kilometers from the nearest land mass.

The original discoverer of the insect had immediately discovered that they were highly aggressive even compared to the other wildlife of the planet, which is sort of like saying piranha schools are a bit peckish. Where the 'Killer Bee' of the Western Hemisphere need to inflict fifty or more stings to kill the average adult human, spider-wasps could do the same with as little as five, and since they had a smooth stinger like the wasp of old Earth, only one insect was needed for that lethal dosage.

They also were incredibly persistent; chasing any threat for as much as fifteen kilometers, though that didn't mean they knew for sure what distance was safe; none of the islands in the chain were more than ten kilometers across. Robots had been sent in and brought out the corpse of the 'discoverer' along with samples of the insects and the 'honey' collected for analysis. These electronic minions had survived less than an hour before the insects had forced gaps large enough to crawl inside and short them out.

Just to be safe, they had used a standard open cage used for taking small animal samples. Instead of floating it up to an aircar, they took it straight up initially to thirty thousand meters, where anything living should have suffocated. Five of them had still been alive on camera, and they took it up to low orbit instead where the last of them finally died. It was good that they had.

They used low level observation RPVs to check the half dozen islands after that. That was when even the Mesan scientist became alarmed. Except for the spider-wasp, no other animal even down to the smallest insects lived on the islands. Everything else had been killed by the spider-wasps.

The honey, with a unique flavor in each sample due to the different plants on each island, was superb; and they saw a market for it immediately. Being who they were, Manpower had considered robots too expensive to waste in gathering it after getting samples from each island. So they had used slaves in armored marine skin suits to collect it. But they didn't dare to chance the spread of such a danger to where their own thin skins were.

The slaves would go out, hack into the closest nest, and under attack from the moment they arrived, carry the combs of honey into the small shuttles they had come in. There it was packaged in simple wrapping film, and they worked until the shuttle was full, having been told that another would be sent to pick them up. However that was a lie. The shuttles would lift into orbit, and the slaves would be left to die.

It wasn't pretty, and some of the most shocking records gained when the slaves had captured Torch had been of those forlorn slaves. Some had tried to escape by swimming, but RPVs had recorded their failed attempts. After all, there were voracious animals in the sea that considered a man a nice snack. Some made it as far as ten or fifteen kilometers without being eaten, but when they ran out of air, they would have to open their helmets, and the spider-wasps that still pursued would fly into the suit itself, still stinging as they sank out of sight. If they stayed on the islands, it was a choice between merely suffocating in the suits when they ran out of air, open the helmet and die, or wait for the swarms covering you to find the gaps in the armor plates, because their stings could penetrate a standard skinny.

Rebecca had been appalled to discover that those records had vocal tracks not only of the slaves ordeal, but of the people in the command center for the evolution. Hearing someone calmly betting on which one would die first even before landing was almost as bad as the 'play by play' as one by one, the remaining people died. Or the recordings of the slaves as they suffocated or were stung to death.

The suggestion that they could transplant them to the nearest continent in a bio containment facility was immediately shot down, and with good reason. Back in 1957 CE, the Brazilians had tried cross breeding a central African bee with an Italian variety to increase honey production. Despite every safe guard, the hybrid bees had escaped and within sixty years had taken over just about every part of the western hemisphere, stopped only where the average temperature dropped too low for them to remain viable in the winter.

A computer model assuming an accidental escape by even one pregnant queen had the entire continent overrun within as short a time; and nothing but the spider-wasp surviving. Only distance, later estimated at 250 kilometers, would stop the spread if they swarmed, and since there was no open space of water that large except for where they lived, the entire planet except for the polar regions would have been theirs and only theirs within a century.

"We finally checked the data on their temperature range, and the spider-wasps go dormant at 10 degrees Celsius. So tunnels were dug from sub oceanic caves on each island drilled by a two meter tunnel boring machine, until it was five meters from the surface and the entire internal space was sealed with acrylic sealalnt and reduced to -5 Celsius. Then smaller boring machines dug from that cave up onto the island, and artificial hives were slid up with artificial combs similar to those used by the spider-wasps themselves.

"The 'keepers' wait until the combs are full, head to the island in submersibles, cool down the caves, then cool the hives until the insects go dormant. Lower them, trade out the filled honeycombs, and put in empty ones. The crews, usually only two or three, are in skinnies that are twice as thick as normal, almost like the old suits worn in early spaceflight days climb back in the subs, and lift straight out of the atmosphere to a level 7 containment facility in orbit with the interior reduced at zero C until it arrives so we can be sure none of the insects escape." The woman finished as they entered the throne room.

Level seven! back when the top class of medical research with infectious disease was the old American CDC, no one had used anything beyond level five. It was the number of stages you had to pass through to enter or exit the area where the organism was, and each stage was separated by sprayers of progressively more lethal compounds to assure that whatever was inside could not accidentally be released. Level seven had the addition of two vacuum stages, and there was no physical connection to any other facility, so it also included an EVA

"Enough Caroline." They turned to see Berry sitting in a small conversation pit away from the throne. She was drinking a cup of tea. "Our good Professor Carlyle wants to be in the field. And I'm thinking about letting her go just to calm her down." She stood. "You are Francis Dollaryde?"

"Yes, your-"

"Please. Just Berry." Berry raised her hand. "I am going to have the most relaxed monarchy in history if it's the only thing I do in my life." She walked over, taking his hand. "The Barleywine you made; it was all local ingredients?"

"Yes, y-Berry." He handed over the flask. "So is this."

"Good." Berry walked back to the coffee table, and picked up a piece of parchment, rolling it. Then walked back. "Then as a royal command, I am giving you a patent for sale and distribution of the honey in Manticore, provided that you begin a brewery here and make more of that drink." She grinned. "Thank WEB for that; in the modern day, that means a monopoly. You control all sales through the Manticore system."

Dollaryde handed across the flask. "Maybe you should try this as well, Berry."


End file.
